


Never Really Win a War

by RovingRanger



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ahsoka on Kadavo, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Ahsoka Tano, BAMF Obi-Wan Kenobi, Battle of Kamino (Star Wars), CC-2224 | Cody is So Done, CT-7567 | Rex Needs a Hug, Canon-Typical Violence, Clones, Episode: s04e10 Carnage of Krell, FebuWhump2021, Gen, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, Human Disaster Obi-Wan Kenobi, Hurt Anakin Skywalker, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, Hurt/Comfort, I don't think?, Mind Control, Mostly Obi-wan centric but others too, Mustafar, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Mess, Obi-Wan Kenobi on Tatooine, Obi-Wan is Tired, Planet Geonosis (Star Wars), Post-Rako Hardeen Arc (Star Wars: Clone Wars), Protective Anakin Skywalker, Umbara Arc (Star Wars: Clone Wars), Warfronts are terrible places, Wingfic, Zygerria Arc (Star Wars: Clone Wars), defoliator deployment tank, occasional mentions of blood and injury but never too graphic, unconnected oneshots, writing challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 37,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28898748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RovingRanger/pseuds/RovingRanger
Summary: "With each so-called victory I just have one question.”“And what question is that?”“Did we really win?”An assortment of unconnected one shots for Febuwhump 2021. Lots of whump/hurt/comfort, and feelings for the galaxy far far away. Many are focused on Obi-wan Kenobi, but several others are included too.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, CT-21-0408 | CT-1409 | Echo & CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives, Chewbacca & Han Solo, Kit Fisto & Nahdar Vebb, Knight Obi-wan & Baby!Ani, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 85
Kudos: 216





	1. Prompt 1: Mind Control

“Obi-wan! Look out!” Master Unduli cried. 

Obi-wan looked from the undead Geonosians up the circular shaft they were climbing. Falling rock slammed into his shoulder, denting the armor and prying his fingers from their hold. Luminara caught him by the wrist before he could fall, and Obi-wan looked up in surprise. He could see more rock falling, and Luminara was leaning further out in order to hold him. He grabbed for the rock face, warning Luminara of the incoming danger. 

The raspy snarls and clicks from the Geonsosians grew louder as the insect sentients swarmed up the shaft. Obi-wan climbed several feet, then looked over to make sure Poggle was still climbing. A low rumble was shaking the shaft, jarring loose more rock. Obi-wan pressed against the wall and kept climbing. The armor that had protected him from the rock now hampered the movement of his aching shoulder. 

Something grasped his ankle, tugging downward. Obi-wan kicked out at the Geonosian as more rock fell past. The Geonosian fell, but its hold on him did not loosen. He was dragged downward, fingers straining as he desperately tried to hold on. Then gravity took hold and he fell. He twisted midair, throwing out his hands and pushing away from the ground, softening his landing. He lifted one arm to shield his head from the falling debris as the ground rumbled again. 

Obi-wan blinked as his ears popped. He looked up to see a wall of pressurized air roaring toward him. The rush picked him up, tossing him around in the swirl of cloying dust and loose gravel. He collided with an outcrop and perhaps the ceiling of a tunnel before he was sent tumbling further into the catacombs. He rolled several times, the back of his head colliding with a rock. Stars burst across his vision. 

The dirt slowly settled around him. Obi-wan tried to push himself up, but the movement antagonized his head wound. He groaned softly and stilled as darkness gathered at the edges of his vision. He wasn’t sure if he ever fell completely unconscious. But the next thing he knew, he was being rolled onto his back and his lightsaber was being removed.

He made a grab for it, attempting to summon it back to his hand, but his arm was pushed aside, and the saber clattered somewhere out of sight. Other clawed hands pinned him to the ground. Obi-wan’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness by now, and he looked up to see a large group of lurching undead Geonosians. 

He kicked and squirmed free, rolling to his feet and looking around for his lightsaber. The chittering insects swarmed toward him, and he used elbows and fists to keep them at bay. He spotted his lightsaber and lunged toward it, only to be tackled to the ground by several of the undead. They dragged him sideways, away from his weapon, and manhandled him back to the ground. He thrashed, trying to push them off, but there were too many of them. 

One of them approached, cradling something in its hands. Obi-wan recognized the egg-like shape, and sure enough, the tip of a pale worm wavered through the egg’s cracked shell. 

“I don’t suppose any of you talk now, do you?” he asked. 

None of the insects responded, and Obi-wan renewed his efforts to free his limbs from the weight pressing them to the ground. The Geonosian holding the worm plucked it up in one hand and held it over Obi-wan, dropping it onto his face. 

Obi-wan’s face twitched in disgust. The thing was covered in a filmy mucus, and it moved quickly. He turned his head to the side, jerking it in an attempt to throw the worm off. Dry hands were placed on his temples, holding him still. 

The worm slithered back across his chest and Obi-wan struggled against the Geonosians’ hold. _Guess I’ll see how this works after all,_ he thought. The worm reached his nose. _I’ll never hear the end of this._

*******

Anakin paced back and forth beside the holotable, pausing every once in a while to stare at the ruined temple. “Come on, Obi-wan,” he muttered. “Where are you?” He had forced himself to go back to the tower with the others, knowing that his former master would want him to make sure Poggle remained in custody. Then he had grabbed one of the speeder bikes and returned. 

Something must have happened. It wasn’t like Obi-wan to get lost. Maybe the tunnel they’d used had collapsed, and Obi-wan had to find another way out. It was possible, he thought, remembering the blast that had pushed them out of the vertical shaft. Or maybe, his anxious mind kept nagging, he’s hurt. He was climbing, I saw him. Maybe he broke his leg, or got buried beneath the rock, or hit his head. 

Anakin’s hands clenched as he turned away for another bout of pacing. “So help me, Obi-wan, if you went back for one of those worms—”

A sound caused him to whirl around, hand on the lightsaber clipped to his belt. He was just in time to see Obi-wan climbing out of the shaft, straightening. 

“Obi-wan!” Anakin ran towards him, the tension draining from his shoulders. “Am I glad to see you!” 

“Likewise,” Obi-wan returned. He started walking toward the speeder.

“What happened down there?” Anakin asked, falling in step with the older Jedi. 

“Nothing. I fell.” 

“And it took you that long to climb out again?” Anakin teased, bumping shoulders. Obi-wan stumbled a little, head tipped downward for a longer-than-normal second. Then he kept walking, not responding to Anakin’s jibe with their characteristic banter. There was little response at all, and Anakin suddenly realized that his master hadn’t brushed the dust off of himself. Nor had he asked why Anakin was here. His concern ratcheted and he hurried to step in front of Obi-wan. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” 

Obi-wan stopped, frowning, then stepped around Anakin and continued towards the speeder. “No,” he said flatly. “I’m fine.” 

Anakin said nothing for a moment as Obi-wan climbed onto the speeder. The other man didn’t appear to be limping. He scanned Obi-wan quickly, trying to get a read on him, but his master’s Force signature barely seemed to be there, as if he were shielding not only his thoughts, but his presence. He noticed some blood on the back of Obi-wan’s head and gently pressed, “Are you sure? You’re acting a little . . . odd.”

Obi-wan’s head turned. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “Just tired.”

That could be it, Anakin admitted to himself. It had been a long campaign, and Obi-wan had only recently come out of the bacta tanks. Still, his worry refused to dissipate. He grasped the handle of the speeder, noticing as he did that for a second Obi-wan’s eyes seemed completely white. He blinked, looking over his shoulder, but there were Obi-wan’s vibrant blues looking steadily back at him. Anakin climbed onto the speeder and took the controls. _That was weird._ He took one hand from the handles long enough to rub at the sand clinging at the corner of his eyes, thinking about what he thought he had seen. Obi-wan’s stare did seem a little glassy. _I’ll have the medics look him over,_ he decided. 

They arrived at the command tower. Obi-wan led the way inside and towards the hangar, where some of the troops were going over supplies or fueling the ships. “Ahsoka and Barris will be going with the group making a supply run,” he explained as Obi-wan silently surveyed the activity. “The rest of us will be escorting Poggle.”

“Very good,” Obi-wan said absently. “When are we leaving?” 

Anakin frowned. “Soon.” He waved a medic over and gestured toward Obi-wan, glad it was the head medic of the 501st. “Kix, could you make sure he’s alright? There’s blood on the back of his head.” 

Kix nodded, casually sidestepping so that Obi-wan was between the two of them. Kix had some experience with General Kenobi, after all. “Right, sir, if you would just sit down on that crate over there so I can inspect you.” 

“I’m fine,” Obi-wan said somewhat sharply. It was the most inflection Anakin had heard from him since returning from the temple. Of course it was due to medical attention. Obi-wan violently batted Kix’s hand away from his head, and for an instant Anakin was sure his master’s eyes were clouded white. 

“Where is young Poggle?” Obi-wan asked suddenly. 

Anakin frowned, folding his arms as suspicion lifted one eyebrow. _“Young” Poggle? He may be young for a Geonosian, but he’s older than Obi-wan. And what’s with his eyes?!_ Anakin reached for Obi-wan’s shoulders, determined to take a closer look at his mentor and friend, but Obi-wan’s face twisted in a snarl as the Jedi took a half step back into a defensive posture. 

They all stood that way for a long moment, Anakin and Kix frozen in shock. “We should get going,” Obi-wan said before turning and walking toward the ship. 

Kix looked at Anakin in alarm. “Sir? He’s never done that before.” 

“I know,” Anakin said slowly. Obi-wan was being more than infuriatingly calm. He was acting _bland._ “I think . . . something happened to him down in the tunnels. The Geonosians pursued us . . .” He swore. _The worms._ “Kix, I’ll comm you as soon as I know what to do.” He took off after Obi-wan, thinking quickly. He needed to talk to Poggle, but he needed to keep Obi-wan in sight as well. 

“I’ll show you the cell we are keeping Poggle in,” he offered casually, and Obi-wan instantly agreed, trailing behind Anakin. 

The cell was small, and at the sight of Poggle, Obi-wan’s eyes clouded again. This time they didn’t go back. The Jedi stood there woodenly, arms at his sides, staring unseeingly. 

“Obi-wan?” Anakin waved a hand in front of the older man’s face. He didn’t respond. 

Anakin turned on his heel and leaped into the cell at the Geonosian ruler. “What happened to him?” he demanded. 

Poggle clicked once, glaring at Anakin defiantly. The young man felt anger bubble up from the vat that constantly seemed to be simmering just below his surface. He shook Poggle, activating his lightsaber. “Tell me!” he threatened. “I know you Geonosians have something to do with this. Tell me what you did!” 

He barely managed to hold onto his lightsaber as something tackled him from the side. He crashed into the wall, held in place as Obi-wan pushed against his saber hand. The weapon dropped from Anakin’s fingers, and Obi-wan expertly threw Anakin to the ground out the door of the cell. 

Anakin had no time to catch his breath as Obi-wan ignited his own saber, pointing it down at Anakin, face curiously blank and eyes vacant. Anakin looked up in horror, shouting at Obi-wan as the other Jedi prepared for a killing blow. 

Then Obi-wan froze, lowering his lightsaber as his irises returned to their blue-gray color. “An—” he rasped, just as a pale worm flickered in and out of sight as it changed positions. Obi-wan’s vision clouded again, but before he could lift the lightsaber, Anakin swung his arm hard, his metal hand clubbing his master across the temple. Obi-wan’s body dropped, and Anakin climbed quickly to his feet, staring down at the still form. 

He summoned his lightsaber, and Obi-wan’s as well, crossing them in front of the Geonosian prisoner. “You will tell me how to get that parasite out of him,” he threatened, not caring that he was dangerously livid. 

The insect in front of him began to chatter like a can full of loose bolts. 

*********

Obi-wan felt like he was frozen in ice. He couldn’t move, and it was so cold, seeping into his bones so chillingly deep he wondered if had ever truly been warm. It was also hard to breathe, like there was something blocking his airway. 

He jolted into a state of hazy consciousness as a loud squelch filled his ears, his vision bursting across his brain again as the worm was ejected from his nose. A noise of disgust escaped from his throat as he gagged on the residual feeling of its presence, of its slimy intrusion on his mind. It had accessed some of his basic memories, and had access to all his training. Obi-wan had pried some vital intel away from its tunneling neediness, sheltering them deep within himself. 

He could see now, and he took command of his body as he heard a lightsaber nearby. Or at least he tried to. His movements were sluggish, and he realized he was still freezing. He managed to turn his head, and saw Anakin standing over him, two halves of a worm at his feet. 

A shuddering shiver wracked his shoulders, vibrating through his entire body. Anakin dropped to his knees beside Obi-wan, gesturing to someone out of sight.  
“How are you?” Anakin asked, his hand supporting Obi-wan’s back. 

Obi-wan coughed, wishing he could uncurl enough to press his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “My sinuses feel like they’ve been blasted with a power hose,” he said weakly. Disjointed memories were coming back to him, and he flinched as he recalled how the hive mind had filled him. 

“Let’s get you warmed up now, sir,” a new voice said, and Obi-wan smiled at Kix.

“Please,” he managed. 

“So, did you manage to find out everything you wanted to this time, old man?” Anakin teased. But he didn’t leave Obi-wan’s side. 

“Nothing like firsthand experience,” Obi-wan bantered. He tried to keep his teeth from chattering. “How did you know cold would work?” 

“Poggle.” 

Obi-wan blinked sleepily. Poggle was talking? That was good. “How did you know it wasn’t me?” 

Anakin grinned, spreading a blanket over Obi-wan. “You do have a _little_ more personality than a worm, Master,” he said fondly. 

“Thanks,” Obi-wan huffed. But he was smiling faintly as his eyes fluttered closed.


	2. Prompt 2: I can't Take This Anymore

Obi-wan surveyed the battlefield, mouth set in a grim line. There were far too many fallen clones among the Separatist scrap metal. His fingers rubbed across weary eyes before he picked his way through the field. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned, his lightsaber appearing in his hand in the blink of an eye. 

It was a clone, he realized. The hiss of plasma fizzling back into his saber couldn’t cover the groan as the soldier tried to get up. Obi-wan hurried to his side, ignoring his own pain as he held the clone down, checking his wounds. 

“General,” the clone whispered, fingers scrabbling weakly to find Obi-wan. “Did we really win?” 

The soldier’s internal light was fading, and Obi-wan’s gut clenched. The blaster wound that had penetrated the clone’s blue-and-white armor had punched a hole in the soldier’s middle, slightly on the right side. 

“Sir? Did we . . .” the trooper tried again. “Did we hold the planet?” 

“Yes,” Obi-wan managed. “You did magnificently, trooper. Hold on.” He gauged the distance to the hold where the main force of the 212th was gathering. Bringing the injured man’s arm across his shoulders, Obi-wan lifted the man to his feet, taking a lot of the weight on his shoulder. Drawing on the Force, he drew it close and staunched the flow of blood from the man’s injury. They trekked towards the others and were quickly spotted. 

A medic met them on the outskirts of the camp. Obi-wan stayed with the trooper until they arrived at the medical tent. It was only then that the Jedi released his hold on the Force, trusting the medics to do their best for their injured brother. He closed his eyes against the rampaging headache before pushing it aside. He pushed outside and began walking among the men, checking on them, directing as needed. The 212th and 501st had been on enough missions together that they worked efficiently as a joint group, but it did take some juggling at times. 

“General Kenobi,” someone behind him said, and Obi-wan turned to acknowledge. 

“Cody. What news?”

“The Separatists were thoroughly routed, sir. General Skywalker took a small division to pursue and make sure they aren’t reforming to come at us again. He will be back shortly to report, sir.” 

“Very good.” Obi-wan gave a short nod. “The droids that separated from the main group are taken care of as well, so we won’t have to worry about them. I’ll have Anakin meet us by the main holo.” 

Cody saluted, and stayed close on Obi-wan’s heel. Normally the clone’s loyalty and sometimes protectiveness would bring an amused smile to the Jedi’s face. Today Obi-wan kept his head down, trying to push his disorganized, unruly thoughts into some semblance of order. His head and body felt unusually heavy. 

The battle had been costly. The campaign on the plains planet had been a grueling series of battles. This had been their fifth battle in eight days, and they had had few reinforcements. But the requested mission had been completed, and the Separatists had been driven from the invaded planet. 

Obi-wan leaned against the edge of the holotable. His headache was rising to a crescendo, and for a moment the world seemed to sway around him. _Hold it together,_ he thought. _Get the reports, fill out the paperwork, schedule a meeting with the planetary dignitaries for before we leave, and call in to the council meeting, and then I can sleep. Maybe._ There was always something else to do. 

“We’ll have to set up rotations for the night watch,” Obi-wan said aloud, trying to keep his mind on the present. “If Anakin says the Separatists are not preparing for a fight, I think a watch on each corner of the camp should be sufficient.” 

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Always, Cody. What do you think?”

“Respectfully, sir, I think you should get some sleep.” 

It wasn’t what Obi-wan had been expecting, and it took him a moment to register what the commander was suggesting. A wry smile quirked the corner of his mouth. “All in good time,” he murmured. 

“How long has it been?” Cody asked. The clone folded his arms and gave Obi-wan his trademark stern look. 

“I make time where I can, commander,” Obi-wan said. He realized he was sagging against the holotable’s rim and reached for the Force for the strength to keep himself upright. The strain was catching up with him, and the effort proved beyond him after the concentrated effort of sustaining the wounded trooper. He sensed Anakin approaching and resolutely straightened without the aid of the Force, pushing away from the holotable. 

Only for his legs to fold beneath him. He landed on hands and knees, one hand on the ground and the other grasping blindly for the support of the table. 

Cody’s gloved hands were there instantly, steadying him. “Sir! Are you injured?” 

“No, I’m fine.” Obi-wan tried to wave the clone away. That’s when Anakin appeared. 

“Obi-wan! What happened? Is he hurt?” Anakin dropped on his master’s other side, and Obi-wan shook his head. 

“No,” he answered his apprentice. _I just can’t take this anymore._

He must have accidentally said the words aloud, from the looks on Cody’s and Anakin’s faces. Cody sat back on his heels, lips pressed into a thin line. 

Anakin spoke to the commander over Obi-wan’s head. “How long has he been like this?” 

“It’s been building for a while,” Cody said. “I don’t think he’s slept more than an hour or two since we arrived.” 

Obi-wan registered the disapproval and took a deep breath. Anakin pushed him over so his back was against the wall. Obi-wan wasn’t even able to protest, as Anakin was already speaking. “What can’t you take anymore?” his Padawan asked carefully. 

“This war,” Obi-wan said simply. “It must end.” 

“It will.” Anakin studied him, and Obi-wan made to get up, but his headache spiked and he leaned back, feeling his skull was going to split. He did his best to hide the lance of pain, but Anakin must have caught on. “You haven’t slept in days, Master. You’re working too hard.” 

“But it’s not enough.” 

“This war will end, Obi-wan, but you’re working too hard. You’re running yourself into the ground.”

“I’m doing what needs to be done, Anakin,” Obi-wan said indignantly. “Someone has to—” 

“You can’t end this war on your own, Master!”

“I’m aware that the fate of the galaxy does not revolve around my abilities, Anakin,” Obi-wan murmured. “I’m not so naïve as that.” 

“Then why do you take on so much?” Anakin challenged. 

Obi-wan leaned his head back. His filter must have been as dazed as he felt, because words flowed from him that he had contained for a long time. “Because I cannot keep ordering good men to their deaths. I cannot be a Jedi and a general. We are peacekeepers, using violence to try to restore peace. And yet there is no choice. Negotiations failed, and so we try to patch things together with death and destruction. And while we are here, focused on what is deemed the bigger problem, crime is rampant and the citizens of the galaxy are left with paralyzing fear. And I,” Obi-wan said, releasing a short, bitter laugh, “am responsible for at least a tenth of it. Sometimes more.” His tirade trailed off as he thought of the other Jedi and High Generals they had lost along the way, like Master Piell. 

Cody’s features were tight. He drew Obi-wan’s arm over his shoulder and pulled the Jedi to his feet, much like Obi-wan had done for the wounded trooper earlier. _I didn’t even know the man’s name,_ Obi-wan thought dully. _I’ll have to go check on him later, find out._

“General, this war isn’t your fault. You aren’t responsible. Get some rest, and then you’ll be thinking more clearly.” The marshal commander guided Obi-wan toward his tent. 

Obi-wan felt as though he were slogging through thick mud. “Still have work to do,” he protested weakly. He made an effort to reach out to the Force to help him feel more awake, but it slipped from him, leaving him feeling even more drained. Force exhaustion again. He could only muster a little frustration over the realization. 

“Later,” Cody said, guiding his general to the small cot in the corner of the Jedi’s tent. Anakin pushed Obi-wan down, ignoring the redhead’s protests. 

“Right now you’re going to rest, Master,” Anakin said firmly. “Trust us to take care of things for now.”

“I do trust you,” Obi-wan said, feeling Anakin’s Force presence brush against him with a mild sleep suggestion. “I just need . . . to be doing . . . everything I can.” The sleep suggestion was being very difficult to cast off. He glared at Anakin, though the exhaustion greatly lessened the effect. 

“You always do. It’s ok to take a break.” 

“No,” Obi-wan said, dragging his eyes open again. “I can’t solve it all but I can do my best to make sure things don’t get worse because . . . of my . . . incompetence. . ." 

Anakin’s eyes widened at the implied admission. No way. Despite what his master said, Obi-wan evidently felt responsible for a lot of the war. “It would be over already if the Code didn’t prevent us from—” 

Obi-wan’s eyes flew open. “No, Anakin,” he said sharply. “We must continue to hold all life sacred, or we are no better than the Separatist confederacy. Or the Sith.”   
Anakin was silent for a moment. “Then how do you think we will end the war?” 

Obi-wan sighed. “I don’t know. If more of the citizens would take a stand against the Separatists, this war would have been over long ago. But I can’t fault them for being afraid. Grievous, and Dooku, and the Confederacy’s council are cunning and ruthless, and have endless resources. So we get called in by the people to perform the very services they are coming to hate us for, and with each so-called victory I just have one question.”

“And what question is that?” Anakin asked, sending another soothing sleep suggestion towards his fatigued Master. 

_What will be left of the galaxy when this is over? Will there even be a true Republic? What happens to the clones? How do we rebuild the Order? Are we still Jedi?_ But it was the trooper’s question from earlier that sprang to his lips as he succumbed to his body’s insistence for sleep.

“Did we really win?”


	3. Prompt 3: Imprisonment (Anakin and Obiwan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a short lighthearted piece of the Team's Banter (TM). Some of the prompts I already have written out are a little bit _angsty,_ so I thought I'd try for a little humor before they all get posted.

The door slid open. Anakin looked up, blinking against the light as Obi-wan was shoved inside. Obi-wan picked himself up off the ground as the door slammed shut again. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” Anakin said sarcastically. “Is this supposed to be a rescue?” 

“All part of the plan,” Obi-wan said. It was hard to tell in the dark of the small cell, but it looked like he was grinning. 

Anakin smiled with relief. “Oh, good.” He lifted his own bound hands to indicate the binders around his former master’s wrists. “You know, too many of your plans involve you getting captured.” 

“At least it’s on purpose,” Obi-wan responded pointedly. 

Anakin was at a loss for a second. His own capture had not been part of a plan. But he quickly regained his banter footing by reverting to a familiar subject. “Not all the time,” he said, infusing his voice with thoughtful reminiscence. “I distinctly remember a different situation on Geonosis…” 

“Ah.” Obi-wan’s voice winced. “Yes. But you were captured shortly after, as I recall.” 

“That time,” Anakin conceded. “But there was the time on Corellia when you—” 

There was a muffled beeping noise, and Obi-wan hastily cut Anakin off. “That’ll be Ahsoka.” He sat on the ground and removed one boot, tipping a blinking comm-link onto the floor. 

“They didn’t search you?” Anakin asked incredulously. 

“Ahsoka was making a distraction, so they were in a hurry,” Obi-wan explained. “Besides, they had already taken my lightsaber and one comm-link, so they didn’t think to look for another.” He picked up the link and pressed the tiny button. “Come in, Ahsoka.” 

“Did you find him?” Ahsoka’s voice came through. 

“Indeed I did,” Obi-wan said, glancing up at his old apprentice. “Is phase two ready?” 

“Yes, Master.” 

“Give them the go-ahead.” The link went silent, and Obi-wan shoved his boot back on and was on his feet, inspecting the door. 

Anakin crouched beside him. “There’s a phase two?” he asked. “Not just a plan B?” 

“Of course, there is,” Obi-wan said, lightly tapping the door. “It’s called an actual plan, Anakin. You should try it sometime.” 

Anakin rolled his eyes, knowing his master was joking. “So, what is this phase two?” 

“Keeping the Separatists from having yet another prison.” Obi-wan concentrated for a moment, placing his hands flat over the door’s inner locking mechanism. A moment later there was a soft click, and Obi-wan pushed the door open. 

“How did you do that?” Anakin demanded, following the older Jedi outside. “I tried that first thing.” 

“Ahsoka is in the base’s control room,” Obi-wan said, hurrying down the hall. “I just had to trip the mechanism a little to let her know we were ready.” 

“Ahsoka is here? Inside?”

“Well, yes,” Obi-wan admitted, frowning as he peered into a room at the base of the stairs. “She refused to not be part of a rescue. But I could hardly send her in as the captured one, could I?”

Their lightsabers were laid out on a table in the empty room, and Obi-wan shook his head as he activated his and carefully removed the cuffs from Anakin’s wrists. “Amateurs,” the Jedi Master tutted as Anakin returned the favor. Obi-wan accepted his weapon back and clipped it to his belt. “We probably didn’t even need the distraction.” He spotted the confiscated comm-link nearby and tossed the other one to his former apprentice. “Here.”

Anakin caught it. His nose wrinkled. “Gross, Master, your feet have been on this.” 

“Some of us actually wash our socks, Anakin,” Obi-wan said, activating the recovered link. “Besides, that one’s frequency is set to your padawan’s, and this one is synced with Cody’s.” 

Anakin led the way upstairs, pushing the two guards at the top into the wall with the Force to knock them unconscious. “Where is everyone else?” he asked uneasily, wondering if Ahsoka would be trapped in the control room. He activated the comm. “Ahsoka? Where are you?”

“Hello, Master,” the Togruta said. “I’m at the rendevouz point. Rex says to hurry up and get out here so Fives can blow the fuse."

“Blow the—” A slow grin spread across Anakin’s face as he ran after Obi-wan. “Excellent. Did you check for intel while in the control room, though?” 

“Of course I did,” Ahsoka said, managing to sound offended even over the comm. “I would have even if Master Obi-wan hadn’t told me to.” 

Anakin chuckled. “I never doubted you, Snips. See you soon.” He pocketed the transmitter, comforted by the fact that his padawan was with Captain Rex. 

“What is the 212th still doing planet-side, anyway?” Anakin asked his former master. 

“Rescuing you, of course,” Obi-wan said, throwing open the main door to reveal a sea of white and gold waiting outside. The clones began herding the prison guards away from the building, Obi-wan and Anakin trailing behind. Obi-wan led him to a point overlooking the base, where Ahsoka and Rex were waiting. 

They had an excellent view of the prison as it exploded.


	4. Alternate Prompt: "Please Come Back."

Obi-wan sat cross-legged in the sand. Out here, so far from the lights of Mos Eisley, the stars spread across the velvet sky in a glorious vista sure to inspire awe in all that looked upon it. But Obi-wan wasn’t looking. His eyes were closed in meditation as he breathed slowly and deeply the air that had finally cooled. He was perched on the west edge of the cliff, overlooking the desert. But the true chasm was the one inside him, an expanse that threatened to swallow him whole. 

Obi-wan reached with the Force. He wasn’t sure if he was reaching inward or outward. It was the same thing, really. Especially when the only signs of life for miles was a small lizard sleeping beneath some rocks and the eopies behind “Ben’s” hut. 

_Qui-gon, where are you? I am supposed to find you, but I don’t know how. How can I learn what Master Yoda requested when I don’t know how to reach you? I—I need you. I was wrong, Master. I wasn’t ready. Not for the Trials. Not for any of it._

Obi-wan steadied his breath and released the rising emotions into the Force. He attempted to be mindful of them as he did so, studying them, identifying and acknowledging them, before releasing them from his mind so that he could do what needed to be done. 

But they wouldn’t go. There was a vast emptiness both surrounding and within him. Obi-wan’s breath stuttered in his chest at the echoes of grief and death in the Force, leftover from the vile abduction of the clones’ minds and eradication of the Jedi Order. 

He was alone out here, more alone than he had ever been in his life. Not only physically distanced, but cut off from everything he had ever known. Loneliness crashed through him, weaving around his homesickness. With the Force, he had always had a sense of connection to others, especially the other Jedi. But the individual lights of the Jedi in the Force had been snuffed out, one by one. With Yoda in self-exile and adamant that he must never resurface, Obi-wan was essentially a solitary survivor. 

Obi-wan had lost everything in his service in the Jedi Order. 

His master. 

_The red haze. The helpless feeling of knowing that there was nothing he could do as the Sith’s blows dazed Qui-gon right before the red blade plunged through his abdomen. The grief that fueled his aggression against the Sith, and the realization that he had come dangerously close to using the dark—the devastating knowledge that he had failed his master twice in those final moments. Qui-gon’s fingers lightly brushing Obi-wan’s face as he tried to give him his next step. When their master-padawan bond was wrenched away, the roots painfully ripped out of his consciousness, the pain and grief bowing him forward over his master’s body._

His love. 

_The love he had walked away from. The pained gasp, the smirk on Maul’s face as Satine fell to the floor. His horror as he turned her over and saw the wound. The helpless feeling. Her confession, and the knowledge that this was his fault. The peculiar hollow feeling that filled him as he laid her body gently on the floor. They’d made him walk away from her again._

His trusted comrades. 

_The varactyl scaling the sides of the sinkhole, his relief that the death of Grievous, after Dooku, would likely mean the end of the war. That at last the campaigns of blood would end. Then the world crumbled around him as the ground was blasted from underneath him, the recognition that the missile could only have come from their own cannons. Hiding at the bottom of the sinkhole, clinging to the wet rock as he heard his own men searching for him to kill him._

The Order. 

_He had dedicated his life to it. It was all he had ever known. He had shaped himself so as to be accepted there, do the best he could to serve the good of others. He had found peace at the Temple. It was as close to a home and family that he knew. They had lost many, in recent years, each loss silently but deeply felt. And then the climax of loss, so sudden and coordinated it left a searing agony in him and a gaping hole in the Force. It had startled him, that the Force would mourn, because death was as much a part of life as birth. But not like this. Not that way._

His brother. 

_Standing on the low hill, watching his padawan, his friend, his brother, sliding toward the river of lava. Anakin had been slowly sliding into a river of hate and darkness for a while now. He should have recognized it for what it was, and it took everything he had not to rush to the younger man’s aid. But it was too late. Anakin was burning, and Obi-wan turned his face away as his brother was consumed. The whimpers fading behind him as Obi-wan numbly put one foot in front of the other, climbing the hill to a bleak future._

His head bowed, fingers curling to dig into his knees.

Obi-wan Kenobi had encountered many different forms of darkness in his life. He had rejected fear, and hatred, and the Dark Side many times. Self-doubt and self-incrimination had been his constant companion. But the darkness he felt now was something he did not know how to fight. He had brushed against it at times, felt it loitering in the corners as the clone wars dragged on. Now it wrapped around him like a giant fist, squeezing the air from his lungs and collapsing him into himself. 

Despair. Grief. Guilt. 

It assaulted him like a physical thing. His meditation had been shattered. So was he.

_Why must I be the one left behind? Why do I still live, and they do not?_

He felt small, fractured. Pieces of his life flashed before him, a rapid tirade of pain. 

_“You should have chosen the Dark Side, master Jedi.”_

_“Promise me you will train the boy.”_

_“I will make you feel my pain, Kenobi.”_

_“Jedi only make things worse.”_

_“You lied to me!”_

_“I do not fear the Dark Side like you do.”_

_“It is more powerful than you know.”_

_“You’re going to kill him, aren’t you!”_

_“You were the chosen one!”_

_“Don’t be so certain.”_

_“I will do what I must.”_

_“I hate you!”_

_Die, Jedi. Die, Jedi. Die, Jedi._

_“You were my brother, Anakin!”_

_“I loved you. I always will.”_

_“He . . . is the chosen one.”_

_“I HATE YOU!”_

Obi-wan swallowed thickly, his eyes opening. He stared unseeingly across the Jundland Wastes. Its crevices and canyons were sharp, empty. The darkness writhed through his mind, and in desperation Obi-wan cried out to all he had lost: 

_Please. Come back to me._

But the desert remained silent. 

Obi-wan hugged his arms around himself, shivering as the temperature dropped rapidly. So quickly, things changed. So quickly. Reasserting his training, Obi-wan knew he would have to adapt, as he ever had. There was no choice. He was the only one left. The Jedi closed his eyes once more, extending the shards of his soul to the Force. He offered it on a proverbial palm, like a child with a broken toy. 

_It’s all I have left,_ he projected. _I’m sorry. I have nothing left to give._

Warmth slowly settled around him, tenderly cradling him. Obi-wan curled into it. He rested there, comforted by the presence of the Force, until the dark despair had been brushed away. And then, finally, he heard the voice he had sought for weeks. The voice of his master. 

“Obi-wan.”


	5. Prompt 5: "Take Me Instead" (Ahsoka and Obiwan)

Ahsoka didn’t think she would ever be able to forget the sounds of Kadavo. The soundtrack of screams and groans was accompanied with the sounds never-ending shoveling, grinding, clanking, and the distinctive fluid jolting sound of falling electrowhips. Her hands, as tough as they were, had blistered from shoveling. Ahsoka didn’t pause as a Zygerrian walked past. She did, however, peek over her shoulder when he was gone. 

For the first time in days, she could see Master Obi-wan and Rex not too far away. The rhythm of her shoveling was temporarily disrupted as she noticed how grimy and worn they looked, especially Master Obi-wan. Already injured and dirty when they arrived, the way the Zygerrians targeted him had not done him any favors. 

_She had been terrified when she had woken up after the auction. The slavers had towered over her, and she had been shoved into the hold of a ship with Governor Roshti. Moments later, Rex and Obi-wan arrived, surrounded by guards. They were forced to kneel beside her, hands behind their heads. While the guards were talking amongst themselves, Obi-wan had taken the opportunity to whisper to her. “Have they done anything to you?” She could hear the anxiety in his voice._

_She shook her head and gave him a reassuring smile. “Just a shock and bruised knees. I’m fine, Master.”_

_The concern mellowed only slightly. “They’re taking us to a slave training facility,” he said tightly. “I believe the people of Kiros will be there as well.” Ahsoka had opened her mouth to say that was good, they could still complete the mission, but her grandmaster had cut her off. “Listen, ‘Soka. When we arrive, I want you to blend in with the colonists. Rex and I are going to stand out. The attention will be on us. I want you to lose yourself in the crowd. Keep your head down. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Do everything you can to hide that you are the Jedi Padawan.”_

_The guards had turned around then, catching him whispering, and lashed both him and Rex across the shoulders for it._

Ahsoka was jolted out of the memory by the sound of a whip nearby. For a second she was grateful when she realized it wasn’t toward her, but then she felt sickened by the relief. She resumed shoveling but glanced sidelong at where the guard flourished his whip, threatening one of the young Togrutas that was shoveling into the cart between Ahsoka and her friends. The Togruta’s arms were shaking, and she was struggling to lift the shovel high enough to tip its contents into the cart. The electrowhip snapped at her heels, making the colonist gasp with fear. 

The collar around her neck didn’t prevent Ahsoka from using the Force, just restricted it. She concentrated hard on the struggling Togruta’s shovel and did something she had seen Master Obi-wan do on several occasions: the Force lifted the contents of the Togruta’s load, and she was able to lift the shovel and empty it into the cart. 

Ahsoka dumped her own shovelful, watching the guard. The slaver didn’t walk away from the colonist like Ahsoka had hoped, so she helped with the next shovelful as well. And the next. 

It was then that disaster struck. 

The Togruta paused in bewilderment, and Ahsoka wasn’t fast enough in adjusting the height of the pile the colonist was lifting. For a second the rocks floated above the spade. Ahsoka’s eyes widened in panic and she released her hold of the Force. 

“Jedi!” the Zygerrian overseer roared, grabbing the colonist in front of him by the arm and readying the whip. Obi-wan looked up, his face paling. Then his eyes flicked toward Ahsoka and widened in alarm. 

“It was this one,” a slaver growled behind Ahsoka. Sparks crackled down her spine as an electrostaff was jabbed into her back, knocking Ahsoka forward, into the open. “We found the Jedi child!” 

The commotion was enough to draw the attention of two other guards. Ahsoka’s breaths came in quick pants as she climbed to her feet. The Zygerrian that had caught her by surprise from behind crowded close, and Ahsoka instinctively shrank away. She lifted an arm to protect her face. A large hand roughly grabbed her forearm, and Ahsoka cried out as she was roughly thrown onto her stomach, pushed so that she was now between the slavers. The first guard raised his whip.

“Don’t!” 

Ahsoka’s heart sank. _Master Obi-wan,_ she realized. She pried her eyes open and pushed herself up on one elbow. 

Master Kenobi had abandoned his shovel and stood facing the four huge Zygerrians. Rex was frozen behind the Jedi Master, jaw clenched as he looked between Obi-wan and Ahsoka. Master Obi-wan took a step forward, one hand extending toward the Zygerrians. The slavers moved toward the Jedi threateningly, leaving Ahsoka on the ground. The guards were almost upon him when Obi-wan spoke again. His voice was raspy from thirst and disuse, but powerful nonetheless. 

“She is not the Jedi youngling you are looking for,” Obi-wan said firmly. His brow furrowed in concentration. 

NO! Ahsoka wanted to cry out, but Obi-wan’s eyes darted to hers briefly, warning her to disappear. Ahsoka crawled backward, then got to her feet and retreated to where she was supposed to be working. But she couldn’t look away from her grandmaster as he continued to utilize the mind trick. 

“I did it,” Obi-wan declared, still layering his voice with what Force he could muster. “You will punish me instead of the young colonist.” He lowered his arm, and Ahsoka noticed the way he swayed on his feet. Using the Force in such a powerful way, with the collar, had taken a lot out of him. But he stood stolidly before the slavers. The Zygerrians’ backs were to Ahsoka, but she could imagine the way they blinked heavily before scowling. 

“Not her,” one growled. _“Him.”_

The guards grabbed Obi-wan and dragged him into the open, where Ahsoka had been only moments before. Ahsoka’s eyes filled with tears at the calm resignation on her grandmaster’s face. I’m sorry! She stared at him, trying to convey it to him. This is my fault. But there was no recrimination in Obi-wan’s eyes. Just warmth, and concern. For her. For the colonists. The first blow from a Zygerrian fist snapped Obi-wan’s head to the side. 

Ahsoka jumped at the light hand that touched her shoulder. She turned quickly, startled when the adult colonist she had been working alongside pressed her shovel into her hands. Her fingers grasped it numbly as the Togruta returned to his own work, and she blindly worked the flat end into the pile they were moving. The sound of blows raining on flesh drummed against her montrals. She shoveled faster, not wanting to listen to the beating. But she knew it would linger in her nightmares. 

Kadavo is red, she thought. Red, like the way the light of the furnaces encased Master Obi-wan’s auburn hair in copper. Red, like the blood that had begun to drip from his nose before she turned away. Red, like fear and pain. Red like blisters, like coals. 

It was red like compassion, too.


	6. Insomnia (Kit Fisto)

Normally, Kit Fisto could remain focused. Normally, he could laugh heartily and extend a kind or comforting word. Tonight he was silent. If Mace or Yoda had noticed his unusual reticence, they did not mention it. They had been the only members of the Council available to take his report.

Kit reflected on his words, “His heart was in the right place, but he tried to answer Grievous’ power with his own.”

Yoda had been afraid that this war was dangerous for the Jedi, that they could lose themselves. Kit rolled over on his sleeping pallet. He was inclined to agree. The mission on Vassek had not gone well. And Nahdar… 

Kit settled, resting his head on his arm. Nahdar’s words kept repeating in his mind. Had the rules changed because of the war? Did all the padawans and young knights think that way? Nahdar had been eager to prove himself, and the war had changed the Jedi’s responsibilities. 

Was it possible to win a war and maintain a moral code? 

Nahdar had been a good padawan. The Mon Calamari had been too self-assured and impulsive at times, a stage all younglings seemed to go through. But Nahdar had responded well to Kit’s corrections, even as a knight. 

Kit sat up and swung his legs over the side of the pallet. He should be able to let his grief go. He knew it was there, and it would be alarming to feel nothing at all about the death of the young being he had trained and nurtured. But it gnawed at him. 

Nahdar was too young to be a knight. He hadn’t been ready. The younger padawans, and newly knighted, were maturing faster than they should have to, courtesy of the horrors of war. But they were still very young and still subject to the natural foibles of growing up in a wide galaxy. 

For a moment Kit felt a smear of bitterness towards the Jedi Order before he let it go. It had been a joint decision to raise padawans that had seen combat to knighthood had a younger-than-ideal age. But it had been a grim necessity. The Order needed more knights, due to the losses they suffered across the galaxy. And though they were spread thin, getting more and more worn out, the people of the Republic were still depending on them. 

Kit got up and began to pace. Though his body was tired, and he knew he should be taking the opportunity at the temple to rest while he could, his mind was too agitated for sleep. Perhaps he would sleep better if he were submerged? But he dismissed it. He would need to arise early to receive his next assignment. It hardly seemed worth filling up the tank for a half night’s sleep. 

The war was vexing to the Jedi Order. They should not be in charge of a war. But the Senate, representing the Republic, had asked, and they could not refuse their duty. But duty was a strict and taxing master. 

Kit lay down again, closing his eyes and forcing his body into a relaxed state. It was only a few minutes before he knew it would be useless. There would be no sleep, not yet. He left his quarters and headed for the training rooms. At this hour they would likely be empty, and he could practice until he wore himself out. 

He was right. There was no one else there. After a brief warmup, Kit glanced at his lightsaber. Nahdar’s rested beside it. It would be placed in the vaults, eventually, but for now he would keep it with him. To remember. The Nautolan started a series of increasingly difficult katas. 

The movement was a channel for his grief, for his disappointment. He tried to erase the haunting sounds of a blaster and his former padawan’s last breaths. By the time Kit had finished the series, his own breathing was heavy and his mind was more clear. 

Kit returned to his quarters and sat in meditating position. Sinking into the meditation, he methodically released the negative feelings that had been occupying him. The Force settled him. Nahdar was a part of it now, and in that way, Kit would always be aware of his former apprentice. 

“Rest now, Nahdar,” Kit whispered, coming out of his meditation like his head breaking from water. “May you have peace.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really short, sorry! I had the hardest time writing this one. I've never written from Fisto's POV, and in this snippet he isn't feeling quite like himself to begin with. I don't care which Jedi it was, losing your former padawan would have to be difficult and there's no way Kit wouldn't be affected after the Greivous' Lair episode.


	7. Day 7: Poisoned

Ahsoka eyed the dignitaries with forced patience. She and Master Obi-wan had been in meetings with the system’s leaders for four days now. She had come along as part of her course in treaties and galactic relations. The Togruta preferred to learn by doing and watching. She had leapt at the chance to go along with the Order’s master Negotiator.  


She knew that prior to the war, a Jedi’s job was to be a neutral mediating force. Their lightsabers and combat training were a last resort, though she knew those still skills helped keep different parties in line. Her own padawan-ship was very different. Negotiating was often far less exciting than a lot of her time with Master Skywalker and the 501st. However, as she had learned over the past few days with Master Kenobi, it was its own battlefield. 

She breathed an internal sigh of relief as a discussion was concluded so she and Master Obi-wan could have a short break before meeting all the politicians again at dinner. With the decision made and the tension dissipated, Ahsoka hoped it would be a relaxing meal instead of a continuation of the discussions. 

Ahsoka flopped onto the couch in their given quarters as soon as the doors were closed. “Whew, Master Kenobi. I’m glad it worked out. When we first got here I thought Senator Oruk was going convince them to cede after all.” 

Obi-wan stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Yes, Senator Oruk is quite the orator. He makes a formidable opponent in debates. Though fundamentally flawed, his presentation was impeccable. He may still bear watching in the future.” 

Ahsoka frowned at some of the arguments the outspoken dignitary had voiced, especially early in the negotiations. She swung her feet back to the floor. “Master, how can so many planet systems believe that joining with the Separatists would be a good thing?”

Obi-wan was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his tone was serious. “The Republic . . . isn’t perfect, Ahsoka. The representation of the people is not always what it was meant to be.” Master Kenobi sat on the couch beside her, slightly turned toward the Togruta. 

Ahsoka knew he was right. Still, there were important differences between the Republic and the Confederacy. “But it still doesn’t make sense to me,” she confessed. “The Separatists occupy and plunder entire planets regardless of alignment or neutrality. They are willing to use civilians as shields!” 

“Points that were fortunately brought up in the discussions here,” Master Obi-wan agreed. “One good thing that may come out of this war is that it is clear that changes need to be made. Perhaps when the conflicts are over, the galaxy will band together and reform the system to one that benefits everyone.” 

Ahsoka smiled at him. “Always looking on the bright side of the planet, aren’t you.” 

Master Obi-wan gave her the barest trace of a wink. “Of course,” he said, eyes twinkling as they so often did. “One side of a planet is always facing a star, you know. So there’s always a sunny side.” He lightly slapped his palms on his knees and stood. “We still have some time before dinner. I have a few people I need to contact. . . I do apologize for leaving you to your own devices.”

Ahsoka waved a hand. She knew how much rested on Master Kenobi’s shoulders. “I’ll find something to entertain myself.” 

A half standard hour later, she was so absorbed in writing her notes for the day that she didn’t notice Master Obi-wan emerge from his sleeping quarters until he came to stand in front of her. She jumped—he could be so quiet—and set aside the datapad. When she looked up, Master Obi-wan was smiling proudly down at her. Ahsoka flushed and leaped to her feet. 

“Hungry?” Master Obi-wan asked. He was clearly amused. 

“Starving,” Ahoka answered, leading the way to the dining hall. Her stomach rumbled as she waited for the rest of the ambassadors to arrive and find seats. She favored stew over the soup, and judging by the heavenly aroma wafting through the air, it would be delicious. By the time the servers brought the food, she was trying very hard not to fidget in her seat. 

She dug hungrily into the thick stew. Master Obi-wan was deep in conversation with one of the Senators, and she tried to tune in. She was distracted, however, when she picked up a faint smell that made her stomach squirm: rancid meat. Her montrals were extra-sensitive to such smells due to Togrutas’ carnivorous diets. Ahsoka looked down at her bowl. No, she thought quickly, not hers. Then whose--?

Another whiff of the pungent smell made her turn her head. She looked to the side just as Master Obi-wan hastily swallowed his first bite of soup in order to answer the Senator. Instead of speaking, however, he looked down at his food. Ahsoka knew him just well enough to notice the knowing stillness that came over him. 

“Wait,” Master Obi-wan said sharply. All eyes swung to him, and he stood calmly. “There may be a problem. I apologize, but if you would all wait a moment before eating? It may be unsafe.” 

“Master Obi-wan?” Ahsoka whispered. “What is it?” 

He motioned for her to join him in the hallway. Together they left the dining hall, leaving behind a low buzz of chatter and confusion. Once they were out of immediate earshot, Master Obi-wan lightly touched her shoulder. “Ahsoka, did your food taste odd?” 

She shook her head. “No, Master, but I think I might have smelled something. Not in mine,” she said quickly, seeing the flash of concern that slightly creased the Jedi Master’s brow. “But I think—” 

“If you can smell it, I must ask that you return and check the ambassadors’ meals,” Obi-wan said apologetically. “Something wasn’t right. I’m going to start asking some questions.” 

“Yes, Master,” Ahsoka said, and hurried to do as she was told. 

******  
Obi-wan watched the young Togruta hurry away before turning towards some of the hired servers. He walked toward them, a polite smile on his face. “Excuse me,” he began, but then coughed. His mouth and throat had gone ridiculously dry. The servers looked at him curiously, and he tried again. “Pardon. I was just wondering if you could—” He coughed again, fighting down panic as his throat began to close off. 

He must have been right about something being wrong. Strangely enough, the knowledge brought him no satisfaction. Instinctively he reached for the Force, aiming to purge the substance from his system. Instead his head spun as the Force was yanked away, like something being pulled from beneath his feet. The world spun, and Obi-wan threw out a hand, staggering sideways into the wall. One of the assistants shrieked, and Obi-wan looked up. Somehow he was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. 

“Get a medic,” he managed as loudly as he could. Which wasn’t very loud, considering that he couldn’t breathe. He heard someone hurry away, and could only hope it was someone going to get help and not just fleeing the scene. His vision doubled, then slid back together as Ahsoka’s face swam into view. 

“Master! I didn’t find anything besides in yours. It smells like rotten meat, but . . .” 

The skin around Master Obi-wan’s eyes and jaw was tight. His hands shifted toward his stomach, and his breath was starting to come in wheezing gasps. His insides were beginning to burn, like he had swallowed a collapsing star. “Spoiled meat?” he ground out. “Arum maculatum. Poison. I would purge it, but . . . they must have put a Force suppressor in as well. I can’t . . .” Breathing was becoming something of a chore. He dragged in another breath. It felt like inhaling sand. Or glass. 

Obi-wan turned his head, hitching himself up on the wall. If it was only his meal that had been poisoned, one of the staff would have to be involved. And it contained a Force suppressor, so a Jedi had clearly been the designated victim. He took a moment to feel grateful that Ahsoka had not been a target as well. 

He focused his thoughts to ignore the burning pain and nausea cramping in his gut. Whoever had planned this had to have either money or connection to the Separatists; it was incredibly difficult to get ahold of Force suppressors without resources. Someone of enough political involvement to know a Jedi would be coming, but not high up enough to have been informed in the three cycles he had sent word that he was bringing Ahsoka…. 

His concentration failed as he dragged in another gulp of air. He felt cold, which was strange because his insides were burning, like someone was driving a hot poker through his middle. Someone else was approaching. Behind Ahsoka. Obi-wan tried to get his eyes to focus. 

_Look out!_

The words wouldn’t come out. The blurry figure lifted a hand above Ashoka, something small and thin in hand. Fortunately, the Togruta was paying attention and dived out of the way. Obi-wan jerked forward, catching the assailant’s wrist. Rolling to the side, he pulled the arm along with him, yanking the attacker off their feet. 

More figures arrived, and Obi-wan was just aware enough that he knew they were there to help. He let go of the attacker, allowing whomever it was to be carted off. He lay panting on the ground, feeling too shaky to try to climb to his feet. When Ahsoka leaned over him again, her hand on his forehead felt cool. 

“Master Obi-wan? The medic is here. Hold on.” 

Her voice sounded like it was being adjusted with a volume dial. His body was curling inward of its own volition as the cramping became more intense. “Maculatum. Antidote.” The syllables were disjointed, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. His lungs felt like they were being squeezed by iron bands. A gloved hand grabbed his elbow just as the first convulsions spasmed through him. The hypo jammed into his neck took only a few heartbeats to begin working. 

His breathing eased, and some of the haze settling over his consciousness abated. Obi-wan bit back a groan, fighting the spasms of pain emanating from his stomach. Force, how much poison had been in that bite? 

“Ahsoka?” 

Her smaller hand gripped his. “I’m here.”

“Y’alright?” He still felt slightly breathless. The sharp pains rolling through him made it nigh impossible to hold still, but he tried anyway. He had to make sure Ahsoka and the Senators were safe. 

“I’m fine, Master. It was one of the stewards. They’ve already taken him away for questioning. We’ll find out who is behind this.”

“Keep everyone in the building until then, if you can,” Obi-wan advised tightly. 

“It’s under control now, Master Kenobi,” she reassured him. Anakin’s padawan squeezed his fingers gently, and Obi-wan found comfort in it. If she said so, it was. 

“Good.” He bit back a low “hhhnnng” as he was lifted onto a stretcher, but he didn’t let go of Ahsoka. He blinked several times, willing his vision to focus, before he found the Togruta’s face. She looked worried. He tried to squeeze her fingers back, but it may have been more of a spasm. So he did what he always did; he made a joke. “At least I’ll get a break from blasted politicians,” he whispered. 

A small smile broke across Ahsoka’s face. It was a weak one, but a smile nonetheless. It was still there when they took Obi-wan away to administer the antidote. Obi-wan would be fine.


	8. Prompt: "Hey, hey, this is no time to sleep." (Echo)

This battle was nothing like the simulations. It wasn’t even like the defense of Rishi moon. Echo’s heartrate was elevated. Watching the droids march down the halls of Kamino, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was it. Even with Fives, Captain Rex, Marshall Commander Cody, and the cadets, the droids just kept coming. Their ammunition was running low.

Above the blaster fire, he heard Rex behind him. “Last one, Commander. Make it count!” 

Echo twitched beneath his helmet. The cadets had successfully taken out the nearest battledroids, but there were more coming. He glanced backward, seeing 99 limping away, towards the armory. Red-phased blaster bolts narrowly missed the bent clone’s body.

Fear shot down Echo’s spine as one of the red missiles hit 99’s knee, bringing the clone down. “99! NO!” He whirled around, trying to draw fire away from his older brother. He couldn’t imagine Kamino without 99. He and Fives broke cover at the same time, unloading a coordinated round of fire into the oncoming droids. 

A grenade flew overhead, arching perfectly towards the droids blocking the hallway. The orb was descending from its peak when it was hit by a stray blaster bolt. Echo was lifted off his feet by the blast, sailing backward. His vision went so white it was almost black as his back and skull collided with something hard. A high-pitched whining noise blocked out the sound of anything else going on. He felt small vibrations through the floor and thought he was maybe lying on it. But why would he do that? 

He blinked at the blurry lines of the barracks that towered over him. The ringing in his ears was irritating. He wanted to clap his hands over his ears, see if it would stop, but that would require moving. Echo rolled his head to the side, squinting at the flashes of color streaking overhead. 

Hands looped under his arms and pulled him backwards across the floor. Fives, Echo knew it instinctively. He should have felt safe, knowing his brother and best friend was taking care of him. The fact that he didn’t was puzzling. He didn’t have much time to dwell on it though; the disorienting movement made the world go fuzzy and his stomach heave. 

Echo groaned, not wanting to vomit with his bucket on. He rolled over partially, one hand moving sluggishly to touch his helmet. Fives reappeared, a hand resting reassuringly on Echo’s shoulder. If Fives said anything, it was drowned out by the incessant ringing. The droning sound seemed to fade when Echo closed his eyes, until it was just dark. 

********** ***

Someone was shaking him lightly. “Hey, hey, this is no time to sleep.” 

The lights were too bright. Echo blinked and his helmet filtered the light until he no longer felt like it was drilling into his eyes. He could hear someone talking, though it was overlaid with a continuous shrill note. Was his helmet comm malfunctioning? He tried to sit up and see what could be done about it, but someone pushed him back down.

“Easy,” Fives murmured. “It’s a good thing you’ve got a thick skull.” 

Echo listened to the words in the background. Something about the clankers, and a hangar? There was another voice too, female, and familiar. “I know that voice,” he said aloud.

“I hope so, vod. I’ve got the same voice as you.” Fives helped Echo sit up and remove his helmet. 

“Not you. General Ti.” Echo would have rolled his eyes if he didn’t think it would make him sick. “We’re on Kamino,” he said slowly. Bits and pieces were slowly coming back to him. 

“Uh, yeah.” Fives was frowning at him. “We’re here because Grievous and Ventress—”

“Were attacking our home. I remember,” Echo cut him off. And he did, to a point. He remembered arriving, and the bridge, and meeting up with some others. He thought maybe there were… “Cadets?” he asked. His skull felt like it was splitting. 

“They’re fine,” Fives grinned. “Got some good target practice with real blasters.” 

“They were in combat?” Echo asked. Why couldn’t he remember? “There was a . . . hallway?” 

Fives pulled a face, mouth and cheek pulled to one side. “Right. You get to go see a medic. That bump on your head messed something up.” He slung Echo’s arm over his shoulder and helped him to his feet. “Come on, then.” 

“What happened? How did I…?” Echo trailed off, watching his feet. Walking shouldn’t be this hard. 

“Grenade,” Fives answered in Echo’s ear. The clone winced at how loud it seemed. “You’re a lucky cuss. Ah well, guess I’ll keep you around.” They were progressing slowly. 

“Like you have a choice.” Echo smiled weakly. The attempt faded as they came across something on the hallway floor. 

_No. 99._

Echo sank to the ground, pulling Fives downward with him. Echo sat down hard on the ground, shaking off Fives’ support. He could see the blaster wounds and he sat there for a full second, blinking stupidly at them, his mind and emotions blank. Drawing in a shuddering breath, Echo reached out a gloved hand and rolled 99 over so that the clone’s body rested across his lap. 

He looked down at the lined face. 

A helpless dismay swept through the numbness. It couldn’t be real. Not 99. The old clone had been shunned by many a young cadet until they got to know him as more than just the clean-up cast-off. He freely forgave, and he had known Kamino like no one else. He had once given a young Echo directions to his class when he got turned around, saving the nearly frantic cadet from being late. His bent, limping frame supported enough kind words and encouraging smiles to reassure thousands of cadets. His sharp mind remembered them all. 99 had played an integral role in Domino Squad’s success. He had helped them become a real team. The old clone was a seasoned warrior in his own right, silently bearing the stigma around him. 

“We lost a good soldier today,” someone outside of Echo’s sight said. “He really was one of us.” 

_Of course he was,_ Echo thought. He wordlessly hugged 99 to his chest. 

They had saved Kamino. His unborn vode were safe now. But those same unborn vode, the cadets, wouldn’t have 99. There was a big hole in their home now, and he couldn’t even remember how it happened.


	9. Prompt: "Don't try to pin this on me."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Until the very end, this is basically a rewrite of Mustafar and the thoughts that might have been behind some of that dialogue.

The door hissed softly as Obi-wan slid it open. He knew immediately that Anakin was nearby. Outside. His former apprentice leaked darkness and self-satisfaction into the Force. Nausea roiled in Obi-wan’s stomach at the sheer potency of the darkness surrounding his brother. His friend. _I can’t do this,_ he thought anxiously. He had always been able to reason with Anakin when the younger man gave in to his anger. This time, he wasn’t sure he could. 

The ship’s ramp was down, and he could hear voices outside. The self-satisfaction he could feel from his apprentice was changing rapidly into anger. Obi-wan’s heart sank. The conversation was not going well. Padme’s pain was clear as the voices outside rose in volume. 

Padme. Anakin’s anger was towards Padme, and rising as a dangerous swell in the force. Anakin’s Force signature seemed unstable, as if the man’s energy were spinning at top speed and the slightest bump would send him flying in any direction. Anakin would never hurt Padme, Obi-wan tried to reassure himself. But in Anakin’s unpredictable state, it could happen anyway. Obi-wan strode to stand at the top of the ramp, allowing Anakin to see him clearly. He had to draw his apprentice’s rage away from Padme. 

“Liar!” Anakin shouted in his wife’s face. The senator’s face filled with panic. Obi-wan started down the ramp as Anakin advanced towards Padme, the tilt of his shoulders and the angle of his chin all wrong. “You are with him! You brought him here to kill me!” The dark figure’s hand stretched out, capturing Padme in a force choke. 

_NO!_ Obi-wan’s mind cried out. He dared not rush down the rest of the ramp for fear of causing a defensive knee-jerk reaction that could hurt Padme. He did the only thing he could; he reached towards his apprentice in the Force. “Let her go, Anakin!” Obi-wan mentally recoiled as he caught a glimpse of Anakin’s emotions. 

Rage, dark, looming, and dangerous as the towering thunderstorms of Kamino. 

_How could this anger be directed at Padme? Anakin always wanted to protect her, at the cost of all else!_

Satisfaction and curiosity. 

_He is enjoying this. How? Where did this cruel pleasure at others’ pain come from?_

Resentment and spite, that he had always been told to suppress the full extent of his power.

_I didn’t teach him well enough. I never communicated with him well enough to help him know we only wanted him to safely direct it._

A twinge of regret. 

Obi-wan seized on that, grateful to find even a sliver of his apprentice still inside Anakin. “Let. Her. Go.” Obi-wan carefully layered each word with the Force, carefully wrapping the words with as much authority and plea as he dared. _Please, Padawan._ He had finally reached the bottom of the ramp. 

Anakin’s hand opened slightly, and Padme fell on her side. Despite the steam and heat of this planet, Obi-wan felt cold. He could see Anakin’s heaving breaths from here. Padme wasn’t moving, and Obi-wan’s heart tightened. _Impossible. He’s hurt her, badly. Endangered his child. The Anakin I know would never. . ._

As if hearing him, Anakin’s fury changed directions, flung towards Obi-wan with a new sense of hatred. Obi-wan’s eyes flicked up to meet the onslaught. “You turned her against me!” Anakin accused. 

_Did you know her so poorly?_ Obi-wan wondered in disbelief. But deep down he knew that Anakin was searching for someone, anyone, to blame for the darkness that was consuming him, slowly eating him alive. “You have done that yourself.” _Search your feelings,_ he plead. _Find the real problem before it is too late._

Anakin paced furiously back and forth. He pulled the dark robe from his broad shoulders, eyes fixed on Obi-wan. Anakin’s expression turned the symbolic gesture into more of a promise than a warning. “You will not take her from me!” Anakin shouted, features twisting into something brutal, challenging. The dark eyes glittered. 

Did Anakin really see Padme as an object that he could possess? He had always been afraid of losing those he cared about, had always feared death. _Death is not the only way to lose someone._ “Your anger and your lust for power have already done that.” _Please, turn back to the light before it is too late. Acknowledge the wrong, and we can fix it._

Anakin turned, pacing again, his hand hovering over his saber. Obi-wan reluctantly removed his own outer robe, letting the fabric slip away as he sensed Anakin’s challenge. Anakin wanted to fight. Words came from Obi-wan’s mouth, stinging as he spoke the realizations out loud. They circled, Obi-wan carefully moving towards Padme. She still hadn’t moved, but Anakin had made no move to check on her. As if she were of no concern to him. That, more than anything, seared across Obi-wan’s brain, warning him that the man before him may no longer be Anakin. 

“Don’t lecture me, Obi-wan.” 

_I never got it right. He always thought I was censuring him, criticizing. Giving lectures._

“I see through the lies of the Jedi.” 

_“How many lies have I been TOLD by the Council?!”_

“I do not fear the Dark Side as you do.” 

_Fear. Yes, I fear what I could so easily become. So I didn’t teach him properly how to deal with inevitable encounters with the Dark Side. My fault._ He gently touched Padme, sensing that she was still alive. 

“. . . . to my new Empire!” 

Obi-wan stood, brows furrowing in disbelief. “Your new empire?” he repeated. 

“Don’t make me kill you,” Anakin growled. 

_“Why do I get the feeling you will be the death of me?”_

Obi-wan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He knew Anakin well enough to know what he wanted: he wanted Obi-wan’s approval, his support. He wanted Obi-wan’s loyalty to this “empire.” In the young man’s mind, anything else would be a betrayal worthy of death. _He was always the one that insisted we align with the Senate. That our loyalty should be with the Republic! No . . . the Chancellor._ “Anakin, my allegiance is to the Republic. To democracy!” He emphasized the words, desperate for the younger man to understand what he was choosing by his actions. 

“If you’re not with me, then you’re my enemy.” Anakin’s back was to him, but Obi-wan saw the movement of the other’s head, the stiffening resolve.

Pain, sharp and bitterly cold, knifed through Obi-wan. _No. NO. Such views do not allow for neutrality, for circumstance. It demands active support, or punishment. No compassion. No mercy. It is . . ._ “Only a Sith deals in such absolutes.” _He truly believes it. But such philosophy turns people into things to be used, or else they have no value._ He reached for his saber. “I will do what I must.” 

“You will try,” Anakin said darkly. The next few moments were filled with the clash of blue sabers and the rapid action-reaction that accompanied combat. Time seemed to contract. It had no meaning. The blue lights flashing between them were the same sabers they had dueled with in the training salles, and yet nothing was the same. The furious blows clashed with the past that streamed through Obi-wan’s mind.

_“I will train the boy.” I wasn’t ready. Too proud. Struggling too much with my own faults._

_“You’re the closest thing I have to a father.” He wanted a close relationship. I was trying too hard to be a teacher. We became friends, but then I . . . the Hardeen mission._

_“I’m glad to see you’re always willing to negotiate, Master.” Negotiator. With all his supposed eloquence, he had never learned to truly communicate with Anakin._

_Too slow. Too weak. I never got it right. So many dead because of me. So many times I should have done things differently. Not just the war. Everywhere I go, death, destruction. If I were balanced, good enough, I would have trained him better. Anyone would have trained him better!_

The small platform tipped as Anakin landed on the other end. Sweat rolled down Obi-wan’s face from the lava’s intense heat. Their sabers clashed in a series of potentially lethal blows. Personal blows. _Anakin’s fall is the culmination of my failures. Qui-gon. Geonosis. The war. Kadavo. Satine. The Chancellor instead of Maul. If I weren’t unconscious, Anakin wouldn’t have killed Dooku. I should have known it was Palpatine from the start._

Their sabers locked and they strained against each other, until they pushed each other away, struggling to regain their balance as the hovering metal heaved and tipped beneath them. His hand shot out, and Obi-wan felt an immense Force pull. He was yanked through the air by invisible hands, so fast the oxygen in his lungs seemed to have been left behind. Anakin’s mechanical hand fisted in Obi-wan’s robes. The fabric tightened under his arms, across his chest and shoulders, and Obi-wan felt himself hoisted into the air. Anakin’s features were curiously calm now, though there was nothing physically preventing Obi-wan from using his saber. 

“This is all your fault, Obi-wan,” Anakin said. Obi-wan stared into the eyes he had thought he knew so well, watching gold pool in them like molten ore. 

“I know.” 

_Forgive me._


	10. Prompt: Burns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a partial fulfillment of a request by happyme111(margalarg8) for more hurt Obi and protective Anakin.

The battle had been going so well. The 212th and 501st had been returning from a mission on the outer rim when they had received the re-routing order. They’d been closest to the mid rim system. Intel had kicked up a massive Separatist weapons factory on the planet, complete with an engineering lab. The surrounding villages had been used as test subjects, and most could not evacuate fast enough. The Republic troops dropped right over the top of one of the villages, shoving the Separatist forces back and following them to the factory. 

General Kenobi was along the front lines with Ghost company. Anakin and the 501st were to his right—he caught a brief glimpse of Anakin’s sabers—before returning his attention to the retreating droids. A discrepancy narrowed his gaze. There was a change in the backwards march of the droids, a parting and flowing closer together as if to avoid a large obstacle. But unless he was very much mistaken, the obstacle was moving in opposition to the droids.

Deflecting fire, Obi-wan darted to one side, deflecting a blast from a trooper. A terse nod to each other, and Obi-wan moved on, urging the troops forward. He found the suspicious spot again. He could make out that it was a tank, a strange, pronged projection rising from its top. A bad feeling coiled in is gut. He lifted the comm closer to his mouth and shouted directions to the gunning crews, directing fire to the unfamiliar weapon. 

“What is that?” Cody shouted over the noise. 

“I’m not sure,” Obi-wan answered. Renewing his efforts, he began cutting a line through towards the tank. Ghost company fell in behind him, widening the wedge and causing the droids to fall back at a faster pace. 

At that moment, the unknown weapon fired. A long projectile sailed overhead, trailing fire in its wake. The Jedi turned to watch its path, filled with grim dread. The missile landed between the two Republic forces. The initial explosion was small, but then a wall of fire rose from the shell, spreading outward like a ripple in a bond. The troops that saw it coming tried to run, the flames licking at their heels until the flames melted into sparks. Not all of them made it, and Obi-wan felt a squeezing sensation in his chest. 

Scowling, Obi-wan shoved forward, leaving the clones behind. Someone, likely Cody, shouted after him, but the words didn’t penetrate. His saber moved instinctively, forming defensive orbits to deflect fire, flicking outward to cut down the battledroids in his path. _Shut it down._ The words became a mantra, drumming along with his pounding feet. _Shut it down._

He was almost there. The tank released another fireball, angled much lower. Closer. He knew it fell somewhere close to the company that had followed him. It was too late, there was nothing he could do! He felt fear-resignation-pain-emptiness from the troops that fell, and Obi-wan drew his shields tighter, locking away the grief and pain until he could deal with it in the rare private moments. 

Obi-wan force-jumped, flipping onto the tank’s short stabilizing arms. The tank’s operator was safely sheltered inside the thing’s metal belly. Obi-wan plunged his lightsaber into the tank’s side, melting a line through it. The mechanisms holding the weapon aloft were slightly off from other Separatist tanks, but he found it. 

Just as another firebomb was launched. Feeling the tank tilting and dropping beneath him, Obi-wan threw himself backwards. His hands were already outstretched, saber retracting as he grabbed the fired missile with the Force. It stalled, its lurid brightness filling his vision as he pulled it back, tugging and then pushing it back towards the Separatist forces and the weapons factory. 

His back hit the ground seconds before the projectile went off. He felt the wave of heat roll over him, and then the inferno was roaring toward him, unnaturally fast. He rolled away and to his feet, only for the ground to dissolve into gravel and sparks beneath his feet. He was thrown forward, the very edge of the flames fizzling out behind him. He landed on one shoulder, legs slamming hard into the ground before momentum rolled him onto his back. 

Obi-wan gasped for breath, his opposite hand beating at his arm and shoulder before he even registered the need. He rolled again, trying to smother the flames, but only succeeded when whatever fueled the fire walls burned off. The smell of burnt flesh and plastic filled his nose. Blood roared in his ears. Each breath was accented with sharp pain, so he kept them shallow and moved to sit up. 

“Dinii alor,” Cody grumbled. The clone commander pushed Obi-wan back down and ordered someone to help him up. “We’ll fall back to the others,” Cody directed. 

“I’m fine, Cody,” Obi-wan protested. His hands were beginning to shake, and he curled his fingers to hide it. His right hand responded, but he could barely feel the left through a shaft of pain that made his eyes water. 

“No, you’re not,” Cody said flatly. Obi-wan followed the commander’s gaze to his shoulder. 

The wrist gauntlets and gloves had protected his forearms and hands from the worst of it, but the blackened plastoid was melted and slightly warped in some spots. Above that, though, the skin over his bicep was dark red, whitish gray in some patches. The dark patch transitioned to a brilliant red as it moved up to his shoulder, and from the feel of things it extended partway down his ribs. 

“Oh.” 

“Oh?” Cody repeated. The clone’s face was hidden behind his helmet, but Obi-wan could imagine his expression. His commander turned to the men. “Let’s get the General back to medical, with the others.”

Obi-wan stood gingerly, allowing one of the troopers to steady him. His legs seemed steady enough, and the pain wasn’t as bad as he would have expected. “Really, I’m fine,” he said, brushing away the trooper’s lingering hand. “I appreciate the concern. But we need to take out that factory. What is the position of the 501st?” 

“General Skywalker is due southwest of our position,” Cody informed him. “Our main force is there as well.” 

“Very good. We should meet with them and form a plan to take the factory.” Obi-wan started walking. One of the troopers growled deep in his throat, but the loyal troops followed him towards the main force.

After the loss of the tank, the Separatists had fled in full retreat, regrouping around the factory. He could see the forces scrambling, the tactical droids floundering to re-organize. They couldn’t give them time to regroup. Obi-wan picked up his pace, keeping his saber in hand. The 212th welcomed the Ghost Company back with low cheers. Obi-wan watched with a slight smile, nodding to the troopers that saluted him, aware that Cody and the Ghost company was sticking close to his side. He would have chuckled at their concern, but there was still a big conflict before them. And the pain from his shoulder was increasing exponentially. 

“Commander,” he began. 

“There you are!” a familiar voice rang out. “Any idea what that—” 

Obi-wan turned towards Anakin, and his newly knighted apprentice cut himself off with a curse. “Master, what the Force did you do? Your arm!”

“Later,” Obi-wan said sharply. He took a deep breath, rebuking himself for the agitated tone. Pain lanced through him as his lungs expanded. He weaved on his feet as dizziness washed over him in its wake. 

“General, sir, you need to see a medic.” 

“After we—” he couldn’t finish. Gray collapsed his vision. Anakin grabbed his good shoulder, and Obi-wan leaned against him. 

“This way,” Anakin said. 

Obi-wan stumbled along, allowing Anakin to guide him. “The factory, Anakin. We have to stop production of more of those infernal tanks.” 

“We will,” Anakin reassured him. “Captain Rex and your commander can handle it from here.” His former padawan kept talking in gentle tones the entire way. Looking after someone else seemed to bring out the best in Anakin. A new idea occurred to Obi-wan, and he tucked it away for later. He could arrange for Anakin to have a padawan, he was sure. Later, when he could think more clearly. 

Anakin guided him into a tent, and Obi-wan squinted, trying to get his bearings. The pain was becoming distracting, and he began funneling it into the Force. Immediately, he felt more lucid, and the shivers abated. 

Medical tent, Obi-wan realized. He withdrew slightly from Anakin, noticing that a medic had noticed them and was already heading their way. “This isn’t necessary,” he protested. 

But it was too late. The medic was too fast. He marched up to them, took one look at Obi-wan, and pointed to an unoccupied cot in one of the corners furthest from the door. “Dump the General over there,” the clone ordered, bustling away to get some supplies. 

Anakin pulled Obi-wan toward the indicated cot. “Not very dignified,” Obi-wan said under his breath. 

Anakin let out a sound that was half laugh, half sigh, then maneuvered Obi-wan to sit on the edge of the bunk. “Only you would think of something like that, master.” The young man’s features were tight with concern, and the Force around him swirled with it. 

Wrong. That was wrong. The apprentice should never have to take care of his master over something so trivial. And the mission… “I’m perfectly fine,” he protested again, determined to stand. But Anakin put out a hand to stop him, and it alarmed Obi-wan how easily his apprentice kept him seated. “Really, there’s no need for such a fuss.” 

“Poodoo.” It was the medic, returning with an armful of supplies. General Kenobi looked up at the clone in surprise, and the medic noted that the man’s pupils were wider than they should be. The General was also as white as a shiny’s armor, and small shivers shook his shoulders. “My name is Helix, sir, and it’s best if you lie down.” 

“I don’t think—” General Kenobi tried to do the opposite, and with that Helix knew exactly what kind of patient the Jedi general was going to be. 

“Right then,” he growled, stepping so close to the man that Obi-wan couldn’t finish standing up without bumping into him. “You will lie down on that cot or I will sedate you.”  
The Jedi hesitated, and Helix gently pushed on Obi-wan’s shoulders and bent to lift his feet onto the cot, shoving a folded blanket beneath them. Embarrassment and confusion flushed a little color into the man’s cheeks. “I’m sorry, I don’t—” 

Helix bit his lip as he circled around to the Obi-wan’s head and gave a cursory look at the Jedi’s shoulder. “Skywalker, get me some more water,” he ordered. 

Anakin obediently fetched it and pressed it into the clone’s waiting hand. “How does it look?” 

Helix blew air. “It’s bad. Third, possibly fourth degree burns. He’s going into shock, and it’s going to wipe him out fast. Cover his legs with that blanket, and then start bathing his face with a wet cloth. I’m going to work the tunic away from the burns and see what we’ve got.” 

Anakin knelt next to his master’s head. Obi-wan’s face was clammy and ashen. His breathing became more rapid and ragged as Helix carefully began pulling the charred cloth away from the burns, cutting the fabric and carefully wetting areas where it had become stuck to the skin. Removing the plastoid armor on his lower arm proved problematic when Helix discovered that some of the plastic had nearly melded with the skin beneath. Other areas of warped plastic had been digging into the skin. When the extent of the burns were fully exposed, Anakin and Helix exchanged looks. 

The worst of the burn looked much the same. Blisters were forming on his forearm and across the shoulder joint, and even the skin down his side and nearly up to his collarbone was bright red and glossy looking. The burns ended abruptly. Helix stood up to get a painkiller. 

Obi-wan saw what he was doing and glared at the medic, weakly batting at Anakin’s hands. “I’d rather not take meds while . . . on an active battlefield.” The words ended in nearly a hiss as Anakin took the painkiller from Helix. “Anakin, don’t…”

“Sorry, Master,” Anakin apologized as he plunged the needle into Obi-wan’s good arm. “But you can’t tell me that doesn’t hurt.”

“Not that bad,” Obi-wan murmured. His eyes took on an innocent, wide-eyed appearance as the painkiller began to take effect. Anakin smiled fondly and brushed a lock of hair back from Obi-wan’s forehead. 

Helix began applying an antibiotic spray to the burns. “How did this happen, sir?” he asked. 

Anakin snorted. “I’m not sure. But some of the men said they saw him head for the tank.” Helix didn’t have to ask which tank. The medical team had been pulled from combat to treat several of their brothers for burns already. “I didn’t see him, but I saw the third cannister. If I had to guess, I’d say he pulled it toward him with the Force so it wouldn’t hit our men.” 

“Did not,” Obi-wan said cheerfully. The painkiller and mild sedative had relaxed the Jedi General. “Threw it the other way.” The cheerfulness quickly slid into a mild frown. “Or tried to. Couldn’t let it kill more men. Didn’t have time to think.” 

“So he’s a self-sacrificing idiot?” Helix asked General Skywalker. 

“I wouldn’t go so fire as to say that,” Obi-wan responded.

“Master.” Anakin almost sounded pained. “Please.” 

Obi-wan rolled his head to look at his former apprentice. “Sorry. Don’t give me the cold smolder… er, shoulder.” The half-smile turned into a wince as Helix began wrapping his arm in a loose bandage. 

“Hang in there, Obi-wan,” Anakin said. He sighed as he draped another cool cloth across the redhead’s forehead. “Something tells me you’re going to attract a lot of trouble in this war.” He watched how Helix was wrapping the bandages so that he could do it later, when Obi-wan inevitably tried to slip away prematurely. 

“I was jus’ burn this way, I guess,” Obi-wan joked with a slight slur. “Besides, the war’s the trouble. Not me.” 

General Kenobi’s eyelids were drooping, which was a good thing, Helix thought. The Jedi’s breathing was returning to normal, and the trembling was nearly gone. “This is all I can do for now. He’ll need a skin graft on the worst of it and a good coating of bacta when he’s not in as much danger from shock.” 

“No bacta tank,” General Kenobi said, eyes fluttering open. 

“Hush,” Anakin said, opening his mouth to speak to Helix. 

But Obi-wan wasn’t done. “No bacta tank,” he repeated, though he was trying so hard to concentrate through the residual pain and painkillers he was nearly cross-eyed. “Y’know how many men can be treated wi’that much bacta?” 

Helix’s mouth snapped shut and he ran a hand through his red hair. Half delirious, and the High General was still thinking of his men. Respect and a loyal affection he’d only ever felt for his vod quirked a smile onto his lips. He tied off the last bandage and pulled the blanket up a little more. “We’ll take care of you as I see fit, General,” he said gently. “Everyone is being treated, I promise.” 

“Mm. K.” Obi-wan’s eyes closed again. 

Helix stood. “I have other patients to check up on,” he said to General Skywalker. 

Anakin nodded. “I’ll sit with him for a while,” he said. The young man’s eyes were riveted on his master, and Helix left, glancing over his shoulder at copper-haired Jedi. If he had to be assigned to an idiot, at least it was that one. 

Anakin spoke softly to his master as Obi-wan’s breath deepened into sleep. “You really _are_ a self-sacrificing idiot, master.” His voice was laced with worry, and he knew if Obi-wan was awake he would tell him that some things were beyond his control, that he should release such feelings. “I know what you would tell me,” he continued, turning the cloth to the cooler side. “But I know you. You’re not going to stop pulling these kinds of stunts.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees and forehead touching the edge of the cot. It still seemed odd to him that his padawan braid no longer hung over his shoulder. "Just be more careful." 

Obi-wan made a small sound, barely more than a breath, shifting beneath the blanket. Anakin’s head came up, alert and eyes narrowed. He replaced the cooling cloth with his hand, gauging the man’s temperature. Obi-wan settled beneath his hand. 

He was warm, Anakin thought, but not quite feverish. Some of the color had returned to the man’s face. Anakin stood and paced back and forth beside the cot, using his comm to check in on the forces attacking the factory. 

He smiled as he sat down again. “Everything’s under control,” he told his unconscious master. “Cody isn’t happy with you. He should be glad he missed those puns, though.” Anakin looked uneasily at the bandages wrapping Obi-wan’s torso and down his arm to his fingertips. “When you wake up, you’re getting bacta if I have to dunk you and hold you under myself.”


	11. Alternate Prompt: Gunpoint

It was late when he got back to the temple. The mission had been long and grueling, and they had lost a lot of men. After making sure the troops were comfortable and had everything they needed, Obi-wan had flown a star fighter down to Coruscant’s twinkling surface. He wasn’t due back until morning, but he couldn’t face one more night in the ship’s cramped quarters. The clones didn’t blame him, he didn’t think, but their resignation to their lot was just as disturbing. If he thought about it too much he would shatter beneath the weight of the past two and a half-- almost three—years. He’d already thought entirely too much on the trip back from the outer rim, which contributed to the suffocating feeling. 

The number of ships in the traffic lanes was relatively low for Coruscant at this time of night. Most of the lights were off in the temple, Obi-wan noted. That was fine with him. He could go to his quarters without needing to interact with anyone. He had told Mace and Yoda that he would be arriving tonight, but they had agreed to take his report early in the morning. Perhaps he could even meditate in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. 

He climbed from the fighter’s cockpit. At this time of night he was the only one on the platform, especially headed to the Jedi temple. He walked toward the shuttle that would take him there, still deep in thought. 

“Not a good place to be alone.” 

Obi-wan stiffened. He didn’t have to look to identify that voice. “But evidently I am not alone, Bane.” He moved his hand unobtrusively toward his lightsaber. The bounty hunter’s voice had come from somewhere to Obi-wan’s right, from the deep shadows lingering around the station building. 

“Not so fast,” the bounty hunter said sharply. 

Obi-wan turned, his lightsaber coming up just in time to deflect the bolt from Bane’s pistol. More bolts followed, Cad Bane coming closer with each step. The duros lifted his other hand, a cable firing from his stolen vambrace. It wrapped around him, pinning his saber arm to his side. A yank on the other end brought Obi-wan skidding to his knees. Bane kicked the saber from the Jedi’s pinned hand. 

Obi-wan struggled free of the cable wrapping his torso. He succeeded in freeing his hand just as something hard pressed against the back of his skull. He stilled, inwardly cursing his situation. He had been tired and preoccupied, but it was no excuse. 

The pistol’s cold surface traveled across the side of his head, resting on his forehead as Bane circled around in front of him. 

“You sent me back to prison,” Bane snarled. “I promised you a reward.” 

Obi-wan remembered. After the failed kidnapping of the Chancellor on Naboo, “Hardeen’s” true identify had been revealed. Bane had promised to fill him full of laser bolts for the deception. 

“I’m feeling generous. You can keep it,” he told the bounty hunter. Bane was drawing his second pistol. “How did you escape prison this time?” Obi-wan asked. 

“I don’t share with Jedi, Kenobi. It’s nothing personal.” Bane flicked away his toothpick and pointed his second blaster at Obi-wan’s chest. “Then again, this time it is.” 

Obi-wan force-pushed the bounty hunter backward, throwing himself to the side to avoid the reflexive shot. He came up on his feet and launched himself after the duros. They went down, rolling as they threw punches There was a clatter as Bane lost one of his pistols. Obi-wan wrestled the other one away only to have it knocked from his hands as an elbow caught him on the jaw. Bane’s long fingers pushed up against Obi-wan’s throat as the bounty hunter reached for the electrical panel on his vambrace. This time Obi-wan knew what he was doing, so he didn’t wait. Using his elbow to knock Bane’s arm away, he grasped the front of the hunter’s shirt and heaved back and up, falling backward and using his legs to flip Bane into the air. The lanky body crashed to the ground, and Obi-wan pulled his lightsaber toward him. 

The hum of the blue plasma alerted Bane. The bounty hunter looked up at Kenobi as the Jedi pointed the lightsaber down at him. 

Obi-wan didn’t take his eyes off the cunning bounty hunter as he commed Mace. “I’ve got an unwelcome visitor. Call the prison guard.” 

“Any other assistance needed?” 

“No.” Obi-wan quirked an eyebrow at Cad Bane. “Though I would like to know how prisoners keep escaping from the Republic’s secure prisons.” 

Bane chuckled cynically as Mace cursed on the other side of the line.


	12. Prompt: "I didn't mean it"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: depression  
> The prompt itself isn't actually in here. Out of all the places it would be said, though, it would be after the Hardeen arc. This is my obligatory post-Rako Hardeen fic.

The debate had lasted for hours, hours that they really couldn’t afford. Eval’s plot was already underway. A plot that had been a long time in the making. They had discussed multiple ways to stop the attempt against the Chancellor, but each was discarded as leaving too much up to chance. There wasn’t enough time.

The only thing they knew about the plot was its existence. To stop it, they had to know what it was. It led them to a dark conclusion, one that hung heavy in the room. Mace understood the issues that could result from this. Every point against faking a Jedi’s death, particularly Kenobi, to uncover the plot against the Chancellor was true. Master Kenobi was respected, looked up to, and was part of many circles. It was hard to not like the unassuming, gentle Master, and those that spent the most time around him could not imagine the galaxy without Kenobi’s steady, glowing presence. That included Mace Windu himself. But these were desperate times. 

The Shadow that had confirmed Dooku’s involvement and that Eval’s plan included the Chancellor had given his life to get them that meager information. Every other Shadow was employed elsewhere. Kenobi had experience being undercover, was adept with in investigations of all kinds, and had some of the strongest mental shields in the Order. He was the best man for the job. 

“As I have shared before, Dooku seems to be aware of at least some of the activity within the temple itself,” Kenobi was saying. 

And it was true; the Count had let slip a small comment, something only someone in the temple would know. They had searched fruitlessly for a leak, any kind of surveillance, anything. The uneasy knowledge in the back of their minds was that someone within the Order was feeding the Separatists information, likely unwittingly. 

“He would find out the truth. The only way it could possibly work would be to . . .” Obi-wan trailed off. Mace glanced at the young Master, seeing the man’s face tighten. It was subtle, but it made him look ten years older. 

“Unless?” Master Ti pressed. 

“Unless Anakin and everyone in the temple truly believed me dead,” Obi-wan said flatly. “The deception would have to extend to them as well.” He gave a minute shake of his head. “But I cannot willingly subject Anakin to the pain of losing his master. Not when I know how it feels.” 

Obi-wan’s shields were tightly in place, his face a proper mask. But Mace knew enough about his friend to guess the suppressed pain the young man was hiding. 

“This would be different,” Mundi said thoughtfully. Not quite gently, not quite accusing. Practical. “You shared a master-padawan bond with Master Jinn at the time of his death. As a Knight, Skywalker’s bond with you has already been properly undone. He will not experience that pain.” 

“Clouded, the Force is” Yoda said. The grandmaster’s eyes were closed, ears twitching. “No clear answer does it have.”

“Master Windu?” Kenobi prompted. 

Mace knew what was being asked. His closed his eyes briefly, inspecting the situation with his ability to see important points—shatterpoints. He only needed a brief look. He lifted his head and shared what he had seen. “There are too many shatterpoints surrounding this. It is like looking at a smashed mirror, with so many cracks there is not enough reflection to see.” Mace sat back, heaving an internal sigh and biting back bitterness that they were forced to ask this. “The majority agrees with this plan. I’m afraid that the final decision rests with you, Master Kenobi. Will you accept this mission?” 

He watched the weight of the Republic settle on Obi-wan’s shoulders, bowing the man forward as he rested his elbows on his knees. The man looked blankly at the floor for several long seconds. The room seemed to hold its breath as Obi-wan wrestled with the decision. 

Everything the Council had discussed was true. And regardless of their personal feelings about the man, without Palpatine, several key systems would withdraw from the Republic. The consequences would be far reaching. Obi-wan, on the other hand . . . 

It came down to the survival of the Republic, or sparing his friends from a loss that could truthfully happen at any time. Of them all, Anakin was the one Obi-wan most worried about. Balance still eluded his former apprentice, and of late Anakin had seemed moody, more prone to anger. 

Palpatine was someone that Anakin had chosen, someone that Anakin confided in. Someone he trusted and defended with fierce loyalty. To him, the Chancellor could do no wrong. Obi-wan was the opposite of all that. Oh, Anakin would still defend him fiercely. But Anakin did not choose Obi-wan. He had been assigned to his mentor, and though the new Knight had tried to give the boy a choice, let him decide his own fate, he knew that if Anakin could go back, he would have changed that decision multiple times over the years. 

They had grown closer after Anakin was knighted. Despite the truth of Mundi’s words, Obi-wan would spare Anakin the pain of losing a master, a friend. Unfortunately, the situation would not allow it. No matter what his former master chose, Anakin would have to face the loss of either Obi-wan or the Chancellor. He had no doubt who Anakin would rather it be. Besides, this way, Obi-wan’s “death” would be temporary, while if they failed to foil an unknown plot to kidnap the Chancellor, Palpatine would likely truly be dead. 

He lifted his head and gave a brief nod.

*****

The initial relief when the mission was completed faded quickly. Reclaiming his own face was supposed to be the end of it. Obi-wan had known it couldn’t be that way, not really. But it was worse than he imagined. 

Anakin and Ashoka had walked away without a word after the debriefing. Ahsoka had glanced back once before hurrying after her master, and Obi-wan had felt a twinge of hope that perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. He had hurried to have the voice modulator removed and resume his own identity, then went to find Anakin. 

He was not at his quarters, or at Ahsoka’s. He wasn’t in the mess, nor in the gardens, and Obi-wan didn’t think Anakin would risk going to see Senator Amidala right now. The Chancellor had called a Senate meeting, so Anakin wouldn’t be visiting either of them. He finally found him in the training rooms. Obi-wan approached cautiously, aware of the others present in the spacious room. 

“Ana—” he coughed. His throat felt scraped and inflamed. It probably was. Anakin continued sparring with a training droid, not acknowledging Obi-wan’s presence. Obi-wan tried again, slightly louder, ignoring the rasp in his voice. “Anakin, we need to talk—” 

Anakin whirled to face him. “I don’t want to talk to you.” He brushed past Obi-wan, physically shouldering him aside on his way out. 

Obi-wan swallowed thickly, staring at the ground. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ahsoka one section over. She too had been fighting a training droid, practicing her jar’kai. She stood with both sabers ignited at training setting, and he knew she had seen the brief exchange. Taking a deep breath, Obi-wan walked toward her, forming a cautious smile as he reached the edge of her mat. “I—” 

“I should go with him,” Ahsoka said suddenly. She left the room, murmuring the briefest “excuse me” his direction as she went. Obi-wan stood frozen, looking at the droid Ahsoka had left behind in her hurry to get away from him. He had expected anger, perhaps yelling. He had not prepared for silence. He pulled his mental walls up tight, shielding his emotions. 

The silence was bigger than Anakin and Ahsoka, he realized. It filled the room, and Obi-wan looked up. 

Every eye was on him, all activity temporarily ceased. Blank faces stared back at him, and across the room he spotted someone fold their arms. Obi-wan scanned the room. No one moved, no one acknowledged or waved a greeting. No one smiled. The silence settled in Obi-wan’s heart, and he fled the room. 

Outside, he tucked his hands into his sleeves and paused to breathe. Deeply, in and out. Steady. Release it into the force. They need time, they’d been hurt and it was fair that seeing him could be difficult. 

But he didn’t have time. Anakin and his men were shipping out tomorrow. Obi-wan pursed his lips and then followed Anakin’s force signature to his former apprentice’s quarters.  
He knocked. There was movement within, but Anakin didn’t answer. Obi-wan knew the code, of course, but he knew it would not be wise to use it right now. He turned away, dejected, when the door finally slid open. There was no one immediately on the other side. 

Obi-wan passed through the doorway, looking around to see Anakin leaning with arms crossed against the wall by the ‘fresher door. 

“I thought I made it clear; leave me alone.” 

Obi-wan winced. “Anakin, I’m sorry,” he started. Force, speaking hurt, but if he could at least let Anakin know how sorry he was, it would be worth it. “Let me explain—” 

“I don’t need any more explanations,” Anakin snarled. “I know what happened. Blame it on the Council, blame it on duty, blame it on anyone else, but I know the truth. You used us, used me! You admitted lying to us was your idea!” 

“Yes, but—” 

“No.” Anakin’s voice was hiss. A muscle twitched in the young man’s jaw as he took two steps closer to Obi-wan, each sentence pounding into him until Obi-wan couldn’t breathe. “You don’t get to just come back and act like nothing happened. You betrayed me. I don’t want to see you. I will not be stuck with your excuses anymore.” 

Obi-wan’s lips parted slightly, but he couldn’t form the words. It didn’t matter whether his throat was damaged from the deception or not. He couldn’t speak around the tightness in his throat anyway. 

Anakin stalked past him, the coldness pouring off him in waves as he paused by the door. “Don’t bother coming back. I don’t want you.” 

Something twisted in Obi-wan’s chest.

*****

It wasn’t the last rejection he received. 

He had spent the few days he had been given to recover from the Hardeen mission in his quarters. It was safer there. Any time he left, whispers followed him. They shoved at his back like physical things. Even younglings and the younger Jedi that he did not know as well seemed to go still when entered the room, eyes swinging toward him. He had taken to pulling the hood of his robe up to hide his face when he left his rooms, and then resorted to not leaving them at all.

He had invited Senators Organa, Amidala, and Chuchi to meet for a meal, but each had declined with the statement that they were busy. The brevity stung. Satine and Dex never returned his calls. 

He had left to rejoin the 212th on a mission, eager to see them, to explain and ask for forgiveness. He longed for the feeling of belonging, the simple camaraderie shared among men he trusted his life with, and trusted him with theirs. 

The welcome he received now was anything but warm. The 212th had stood in ranks, buckets on, not moving as he spoke to them. He had apologized, expressing his regret that they had been sent away and for the manner in which they had been told the news. There was no softening in the Force around them. When they were dismissed, the men disbanded, leaving in small clusters. 

Obi-wan watched them go. He turned to Cody, hoping to get an update on what had happened in his absence. Perhaps exchange a quip or two. But no, Cody was leaving as well.  
“Commander, a moment, if you please.” 

Cody turned back, face unreadable and posture purposefully at attention. “Sir.” 

The formality made Obi-wan cringe. “Cody, I— I hope you and the men can understand. What I did, I did as my duty to the Republic. I’m sorry. Truly.” He waited, searching the commander’s face for a sign of friendship, of forgiveness. 

“Anything else, sir?” Cody’s face remained a dutiful mask. The stiff manner was not lost on Obi-wan. 

“Yes,” he said, pushing back his dismay. “I ask your forgiveness. When you can.” 

****

_“Let’s go, you coward.” Anakin shoved him, and “Hardeen” stumbled into the dining hall of Coruscant’s prison. He was swept along the line of prisoners getting food, deposited at one of the tables. The memory of it came back strong: the measuring glances, the knowledge that he would have to do something drastic to earn their respect if he wanted to survive, let alone accomplish his mission. The sick feeling as his drove a fork through the cartilage of another prisoner’s hand._

_The prisoners cheered around him. Faceless guards ran in, and Obi-wan stood frozen as the guards became the 212th. Bane shot several in front of him, tossing a blaster at Obi-wan and demanding he execute the next one himself. But he couldn’t pull the trigger. They were his men! He turned, lowering the blaster in time to see Bane holding the storekeeper in the air. Obi-wan rushed forward, tackling the bounty hunter._

_Bane punched him, and he toppled over beside a ship. He looked up. Anakin and Ahsoka stood over him, scowling. “Don’t bother coming back, Obi-wan,” Anakin said, picking “Hardeen” up off the floor and tossing him into the ship._

_Obi-wan turned, heart pounding, as the ship tilted, smoke billowing from the engines. The floor of the ship tilted beneath him, and he threw himself into the pilot’s seat, fighting the ship, but the controls wouldn’t respond. They crashed into the Box. Toxic gas spilled from the ship’s panels, and Obi-wan tumbled from the door, lungs bursting from holding his breath._

_“We learned on Umbara that some see us clones as something to be used,” Cody’s voice said harshly. Obi-wan glanced up into his commander’s face, plastered across the Box’s wallscreens. “We understand what you did, General. We just thought you were different.”_

_“Your lack of leadership skills is disappointing,” Dooku chuckled from another wall. “Kill Eval. Show me what you are capable of.”_

_The floor lifted “Hardeen” into the air, forming a sort of arena surrounded by flames. Eval was on top of him, and Obi-wan kicked upward, knocking the criminal back. He leaped after the dropped body, pummeling his fists downward. But it wasn’t Eval anymore, it was Anakin, and he looked up at Obi-wan with eyes full of betrayal._

_“You’re supposed to be dead,” he accused. A saber flashed in his hand, and Obi-wan fell back, fingers scrabbling at his chest where Anakin’s blue blade cut through to his heart._

Obi-wan woke with a jolt, panic pressing him to the mattress like an invisible weight. His lungs heaved, and his sleep clothes were plastered to his skin with sweat. He sat up, turning so that his back was to the wall. The images swam through his brain, swirling together with said and unsaid words. Disgust rose as he thought about the mission and what he had had to do as Hardeen. Loneliness crashed around him. He pulled in his knees, resting his chin on his arms and staring at the darkness. 

****

When Obi-wan had been very small, he had been fascinated with the wonders the galaxy had to offer. His curiosity had sometimes led him into trouble. Once, while on an academic trip to study the living Force among the plants of Kashyyk, Obi-wan had wandered off, lost in the details of his youngling world. He had been examining the intricate network of vines twining overhead when he had stumbled into a sinkhole. He had felt the surface give way beneath his feet, felt it sucking him downward before one of the creche masters had pulled his five-year-old body free. 

It felt like that now, only the sinkhole was somewhere inside him, and there was no one to catch him. His worst fears had been confirmed. All of the anxieties he had secretly harbored, all the doubts and fears that had haunted him for more than thirty years, were not unfounded. Thirty years’ worth of emotions dutifully released into the Force were being sucked down into the sinkhole in his chest, and Obi-wan didn’t know how to stop it. 

At first he tried to still be part of his friends’ lives in small ways. Greeting the shinies, procuring orange-gold pigments for repainting armor that went unused for days. Leaving messages of congratulations, or condolences. He watched the clones one day, seeing how they interacted, and it was like looking in through a window. Laughter, and playful shoving, an ease in manner and language that had been absent whenever he was around, even before his “death.” 

A brief encounter with Anakin on a day of leave confirmed the stony coldness remained between them. Obi-wan had been so lonely that day, he risked allowing his shields to lower, just enough to send a tendril of his signature into the Force. Anakin’s walls were up, and in the entire encounter, he did not brush his Force signature toward Obi-wan. Not even a little. 

The knowledge wrapped around him in uncompromising bands, forcing him to acknowledge the agonizing truth. 

They were all better off without him. 

Obi-wan spent Council meetings focused on keeping his shields locked tight, hiding the bruises on his soul. Staring down the stark shambles of his life day in and day out tore holes in him that quickly depleted his energy to fill them. He wove his shame into a rigid wall, using it as fuel to shield those around him from his failures and the obtrusion of his company. 

The phantoms of his nightmares loomed over him in his fitful bouts of sleep, taking the forms of his friends and acquaintances and spitting harsh words. During the days he frantically shoveled his misery into the Force, but it was like trying to rake water. Some days he channeled everything he had into releasing his negative emotions, keeping at it until he was empty. He would remain empty for days, at times. The empty grayness scared him when he was able to feel again; was this what was left to him? Other days he couldn’t manage the tide, and he berated himself, slamming control against the relentless waves until he could quell them. Then he would throw himself into whatever task was at hand, whatever might make him of some worth. 

Gradually things returned to some semblance of how they were before. Anakin became less distant, the clones began to relax around him, and he began to get short messages again. But Obi-wan was haunted by the realization of his self-doubts. Every once in a while he would see Cody, Mace, whoever was around glance at him when they thought he wasn’t looking. He saw the slight frowns, and his guilt ratcheted. The emptiness he carried inside him ruined their happiness. The dull ache left in his chest pulsed, but he resolved to stay away from them as much as possible. 

*****

Ahsoka stood with her master and Master Obi-wan on a bluff, overlooking the setting suns. The camp was in the meadows behind them, and for now they had a quiet evening. Ahsoka knew that could change in a second. She just wanted to enjoy the moment. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it,” Obi-wan murmured. There was a warmth in his voice she hadn’t heard since . . . well, since Master Kenobi faked his death. Over the past tenday, as she and Anakin had come to terms with what had happened and begun to spend time around him again, Master Kenobi had seemed more closed off. It was to be expected, she had thought guiltily. But now he had that soft look on his face, the one he sometimes got when admiring some obscure detail, or during a deep meditation. She smiled to see it. 

“I’ve missed you, Master Kenobi,” Ahsoka said, impulsively wrapping her arms around him in a loose hug. “I’m glad you’re here with us.” 

Obi-wan froze. The Force around him seemed to unravel, his mental shields crumbling like they had been blasted with plasma cannons. For a second the last thing he had been thinking shimmered in his Force signature, exposed by the collapse of his shields: _How can I feel so much wonder at the galaxy and yet not want to live?_

Ahsoka gasped, quickly sending affection, warmth, and comfort towards the thought, tightening her arms around her grandmaster. 

Three tendays after his miraculous return, Obi-wan Kenobi shattered.


	13. Prompt: "I can't see." (Anakin)

Anakin had warned her. 

The pirates wanted the information, and they would do just about anything to get it. Including capture and torture two Jedi. 

Ahsoka wrenched against the cuffs keeping her within the containment field. “Stop it!” 

The pirates cut the current jolting through Anakin’s body. He groaned, head drooping forward so that his chin was nearly on his chest. “Are you going to tell us the coordinates?” One of the pirates sauntered closer to Ahsoka. 

The Togruta looked back at Anakin. His tunics were smoking, and his mechanical hand was curled into a permanent fist from the electricity. He seemed barely conscious, and Ahsoka didn’t know how much more he could take without permanent damage. “I—” 

“Don’ do it, ‘soka,” Anakin ordered. His head lifted a fraction. The pirate standing next to him hovered his finger over the button, turning to grin at Ahsoka as he tapped it. A quick jolt of energy flared around Anakin’s wrists and ankles. 

“Your friend won’t last much longer,” the pirate leader drawled. He was close enough now that she could smell him. He grasped her chin. “Tell me the coordinates, and his torment can end.” 

Ahsoka jerked free, feeling sick. Unable to speak, she shook her head miserably. 

The pirate’s expression turned ugly, the laughter wiped away like it had never been. “Fine.” Turning his back to Ahsoka, he signaled the Dallenorian holding the control to Anakin’s cuffs. Blue electricity soon crackled through her master’s entire body. Anakin screamed, a sound that Ahsoka was sure she would never be able to escape. Tears blurred her vision.

The door was blown open. Hovering in the containment field, Ahsoka didn’t feel the vibrations that went with the small explosion. She blinked hard in rapid succession, trying to clear the tears, and saw four clones pour into the room. With deadly precision, the clones’ blasters dropped the pirates. 

“Captain?” Ahsoka asked as her cuffs were disengaged. Her voice was barely above a whisper. Strong arms caught her, steadied her. Ahsoka stumbled to where the two other clones were keeping Anakin on his feet. 

“Master, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Ahsoka babbled. Worry coiled in her gut as Anakin lifted his head. He could barely lift it, and small tremors still seized through his limbs. 

“Commander, are you hurt?” 

Ahsoka shook her head at Jesse’s question. “No,” she said dully. “They didn’t . . . Master Skywalker took it all. They thought I’d tell first.” She looked up at Captain Rex, who had Skyguy’s arm draped over his shoulder. She couldn't see his face, but the captain radiated nothing but concern through the Force. 

“Proud,” Anakin slurred, and some of the guilt and shame eased in her gut. He didn’t hate her. 

“Thank you for rescuing us.” Rex nodded once, then Jesse led the way outside. Before following, Ahsoka sidled closer to her master, trying to get him to meet her eyes. “It’s going to be ok now,” she murmured. “You’ll see.” 

“Ahsoka . . .” Anakin’s gaze didn’t quite meet hers. The words were low. “I . . . _I can’t see.”_


	14. Prompt: Broken Bones (wingfic)

Something was happening on the other side of the field, something the General couldn’t see from the ground. Obi-wan force-jumped high into the air, deflecting several blaster shots with his lightsaber as he snapped open his wings. He pumped them powerfully, rising further into the air. 

From the vantage point, he could see the bloodbath happening on the left flank. The Separatists had come between the hills, emerging with no warning on the clones holding the breastworks there. The defenders put up a good fight, but they were fighting on two sides. Those that had fallen collapsed over the low barriers or fell to the ground at their brothers’ feet. There were far too many of them already.

Obi-wan lifted the commlink on his wrist as he flapped his wings, rising above the battlefield. “Cody. I’m going to help the left flank. Tell the cannons to focus fire on bridge.” He didn’t wait for a response. His commander knew the plan and was more than capable of executing it. 

The wind shrilled past as Obi-wan descended in a dive, angling towards the struggling troops. His eyes narrowed as he saw the clones were falling back, tightening their formation as droids threatened to overwhelm them with sheer numbers. 

His saber ignited, and he pulled up from the dive by pulling his wings in, rocketing just over the heads of the battle droids. His saber whirled in blindingly-fast display of destruction, cutting a wide swathe through the Separatist ranks. 

“It’s the General!” 

The clones breathed an internal sigh of relief at the temporary respite the Jedi’s appearance had given them. They opened fire while their General rose into the air again, executing a hairpin turn to make another pass. For a moment he was outlined against the low-hanging clouds, his full wingspan reflecting the late afternoon light off the auburn feathers before he plunged down into the center of the droids. 

On the ground, Obi-wan pulled his wings in, leaving them loosely tucked as he tore the Separatist battalion apart from the inside. The elaborate, lethal dance of his lightsaber cleared space around him, allowing him to use arms, legs, saber, and Force with the greater mobility his wings lent him. 

When the last droid in the ambush fell, Obi-wan strode across the field to where the clones were waiting. 

“Well done,” he called. “Choose a squadron to get the wounded off the field. The rest of you, we need to move forward with the main force. Cody should have taken out the bridge by now.” 

“Right away, sir!” Waxer shouted. He fired some orders, sparing a quick glance at Obi-wan. 

“Thanks for coming in, General. They took us by surprise.” 

Obi-wan acknowledged with a brief nod and a warm smile. “Always happy to be of assistance,” he said. “Hopefully there aren’t any more surprises and we can cut the Separatists off from the city.” 

“Sir!” 

Obi-wan followed the trooper’s pointing finger, his smile widening as he saw a plume of smoke rising to join the fog. “Cody’s group got the bridge,” he called. “Prepare to join the wing-sweep!” 

The clones ran forward, intent on catching up with their brothers and spreading forward and out from them, each flank forming an extension from the main force that would encircle the Separatist invaders and trap them against the now-bridgeless rift. 

Obi-wan clipped his lightsaber to his belt and launched into the air. He climbed until he was just below the sheet of the lowest clouds, high enough to see the general layout of the battle. He hovered on languid wingbeats for a few seconds, noting the location of his commander and surveying the general layout of the battlefield.

The unmistakable sound of a ship passing nearby caused the Jedi’s brow to furrow. The Republic forces weren’t expecting any dropships. He sank, sensing the ship was still nearby. The many thick cloud layers obscured the ship from view. “Blast,” Obi-wan muttered. “And here I was hoping we were done with uninvited company for the day.” 

A warning in the Force made him drop several feet as something hurtled toward him out of the clouds, its passage forming orange-and-gold tinted curlicues. Obi-wan dove for the ground in a tight spiral. The ship followed, launching a spring-loaded net after him. 

Ordinarily, the strong air currents created by a ship wouldn’t be too much of a problem. This time, however, a rotary gust stalled him for a split second as he pulled up. It only took a split second for Obi-wan to adjust the angle of his wings. But it cost him the vital second in which he could have evaded the net. 

It wrapped around him, tangling around his wings and pinning his arms. He hurtled the remaining distance to the ground, colliding with the surface at an uncontrolled speed. 

******

Obi-wan groaned as his body figured out how to breathe again. 

The mechanisms on the net’s edge had activated, anchoring firmly into the ground and stretching the net taut enough that he could scarcely move. Trying to push himself up on hands and knees resulted in blinding pain. 

Sucking in a breath, he relaxed back on the ground and took stock of the situation. There was the sharp smell of . . . burning fuel? And smoke? The clones must have shot down the ship. Which was just as well, because he was pressed so tightly to the ground that he could not even maneuver his lightsaber. His right shoulder radiated pain even in a relaxed state, and he guessed it was dislocated. His body throbbed, leaving no doubt that he would be covered in bruises. 

“General Kenobi!” 

“Boil?” 

“Yes, sir. I’ve got Helix with me. Let’s get that net off you.” 

“I don’t know, Boil. I’m tempted to update all his travel boosters while he’s pinned down.” But the small jerks of the net told Obi-wan they were cutting him loose. 

The vibrations soon revealed another problem. His wings were twisted with the net. Each twinge and jerk of the net brought bursts of pain. When Boil lifted one side of the net, intending to fold it over, Obi-wan bit back a groan. It was a small sound, but Boil stopped instantly, seeing the way Obi-wan’s fist scraped across the ground. 

“Sir? What is it?” 

“Wing,” Obi-wan said through grit teeth. “Something must be broken.” 

He heard Helix curse. The bones inside the wings were few in number, really, but vitally important. Obi-wan felt a flash of fear as he realized that if it didn’t heal properly, he might never be able to fly the same again. 

Breathe out. In. Out. He’s had plenty of broken bones before. They heal. As long as it doesn’t get jostled too much, it will be fine. 

“We’ll cut the other side of the net,” Helix decided. “That’ll let us maneuver it. Boil, come hold above where I’m cutting. Keep it as steady as you can.” 

Obi-wan closed his eyes, grateful for the capability of the clone medics. For the moment, the break was fairly numb, but he knew that would wear off once his body was no longer shocked and began allocating resources to the area. As it was, each sawing motion sent pings of discomfort clear down to the joints where his wing met his back. 

Discomfort he could handle. He listened to the sounds of the battle taking place, trying to determine what was happening. It was highly unlikely that the Separatists would win this fight. But they could still be losing men, and Obi-wan should be there. The clones began the painful process of detangling the net from the sensitive feathers. Each pinch and pull added to the discomfort. Obi-wan said nothing, focusing on the sounds, the feel of the dirt on his cheek, firmly grounding himself in the present. 

As soon as the net slid from the quivering wingtip, Obi-wan was on his feet. It hurt, but the clones didn't need to know that. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to soar directly into battle to fight alongside his men. Instead, he flashed a smile at the clones. “Thank you. Let’s join the others, shall we?” 

He had gone maybe five steps in the direction of the battle when Helix was blocking his path, gently pushing one hand against Obi-wan’s chest. 

“Not so fast,” the medic said. His eyes narrowed. “The medical tent is that way.” 

“I appreciate the help, Helix. But I need to—”

“Come get that break looked at and see what we can do for a splint. You’re absolutely right!” Helix said cheerily. 

“I wouldn’t argue with him, sir,” Boil chipped in seriously. “He means business. He’s doing his fake cheerful thing.” 

Obi-wan knew that. Oh, he knew that. He had ignored it multiple times before in his attempts to avoid inconveniencing the medical staff. “But the battle,” he said, gesturing vaguely past the clones blocking his path. “I need to be there. With the men,” he emphasized. 

Helix lifted a decidedly unimpressed eyebrow. “All due respect, sir, but if the men had any sense at all they would march you straight to medical the moment you arrived with a broken wing. Now march.” 

Obi-wan stood his ground, considering his options. He could get around the two men fairly easily, even with one wing held awkwardly stretched. “I am perfectly capable of walking. Therefore, I can still fight. What kind of General gets coddled while his men risk their lives?” 

Helix dropped the façade of mild cheeriness and fixed Obi-wan with a glare. It was the kind of glare that made the Jedi feel like a bug pinned to a board. “A sensible one,” the medic said. His voice was low and held an unmistakable warning note. “Now get moving. Need I remind you that I can, and will, strap you down and sedate you if I have to?” 

“That would be abuse of station,” Obi-wan said, eyeing the medic warily. But he turned and walked toward the medical tent, a clone on each side to make sure he got there. “Is that the go-to threat now?” 

Helix’s jovial smile was back, but it was rather . . . wolfish. “Just skipping steps, General.”


	15. Prompt: Sleep Deprivation (Rex)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is meant to take place not long before season 7 and the Bad Batch arc.

Rex huddled beside Jessie, peering through the rain. The string of lost battles behind them weighed heavily on his mind. The Seppies seemed to predict everything the Republic forces were going to do. On this campaign, the 501st had settled down for a long siege. At this point, Rex wasn’t sure who was laying siege on whom. 

“Any sign of ‘em?” he murmured into the mic of his helmet. 

“Negative, sir,” came he general response. 

“They’ll be back. Stay alert.” He grimly switched off the mic, fighting back a yawn. 

He was supposed to have slept on the last shift, but another guerilla attack after the switch had dragged him back to the trenches. They couldn’t afford to let the nuisance attacks make an opening. 

“I don’t like this, Rex,” Jessie said. “We haven’t used these tactics in ages. Even tactical droids shouldn’t be able to predict them.” 

Rex frowned. Jessie was observant, and he was right. “We’ll just use some of the old plans we never used,” he said finally. He used a gloved hand to wipe away some of the water on the visor of his helmet. 

Jessie nodded. “Odd, though, how they even know our guard rotations.” 

Rex straightened, waiting for Jessie to explain. If Jessie had made the same observations he had . . . 

“They’ve been hitting us right soon after rotations. Puts the men on edge and prevents those just off duty from resting. Happens along the line, like they know we rotate sections on offset schedules. Even the irregular shift.” 

Rex sucked in a breath. It wasn’t his imagination. Someone else had noticed that the droids seemed to have dug deep into the 501‘s tactics. Like the Seppies had figured out the inner workings of the 501st. 

“They’ve also been hitting at the end of shifts, just to throw the pattern,” Rex agreed. He fought back a yawn. “Clankers usually don’t engage in guerilla tactics, either.” That was _their_ job, and being on the receiving end irritated Rex. His eyes stung, but he kept them open, waiting for the movement that would give away the Separatists. Maybe he should contact Cody, see if the droids were showing signs of new programming in other parts of the galaxy. 

Two standard hours later, Rex dragged himself back to the barracks. Unlike most of the men, he didn’t actually sleep inside. He chose to sleep just outside of it, in a small shelter he had erected to keep most of the rain off. The barracks would be dry, but he wouldn’t hear if there was a skirmish. He settled on the damp blankets, removing only his helmet. He closed his eyes, forcing his tense muscles to relax. 

He knew he didn’t have to be there for every skirmish. But he was Commander now, and filling Commander Tano’s place. . . he threw himself into the duties. For her. He missed her impish smile and the way she fit in so easily with the vode. She had General Skywalker’s recklessness, but she was considerate of the men. Rex was loyal to General Skywalker. But Tano someone he could trust even outside of battle. She was his commander. 

He had heard what had happened to her. The accusations. How she had left the Order and left the GAR as a result. At first, he had been confused and angry about it all. Now he was just glad she had made it out before the Outer Rim Sieges began in earnest, that she didn’t have to be an active part of the war anymore. Grateful that she was able to walk away from it, like Lawquane, the “deserter” farmer. 

Not for the first time, Rex wondered what would happen if the clones all chose to walk away. But if the clones didn’t fight, who would? The Jedi would be all that was left, and he had seen enough to know that even they couldn’t do it alone. It wouldn’t the stubborn jet’ii from trying, though. All the vod knew that. 

Rex turned on his side, again forcing his muscles to relax. He was experienced with forcing his body to sleep. He was weary to his bones, but he couldn’t sleep. 

The first distant blaster shot had Rex rolling to his feet, snatching up his helmet and jamming it on before he had even really registered it. He felt bleary, like his eyes were still halfway shut and his body was responding to the situation by sheer force of habit. The chrono flashed briefly in one corner of the helmet’s display when he put it on. 

Half a standard hour. That’s as long as he had been able to sleep. 

“This is Vibro squadron. We’ve got incoming!” 

Rex shuffled through the assignments in his mind as he ran. Vibro squadron was about to head off duty. The equivalent squadron on the opposite wing from center was . . . Demolition Company? “Demolition Company, keep sharp,” he ordered into the mic. “There may be another hit coming your way.” 

He signed off and checked his blaster, making sure the charges would still fire in the torrential rain. Mud squelched beneath his boots. He could hear the combat up ahead. Clutching a pistol in each hand, Rex resigned himself to another round.


	16. Prompt: "Don't look." (Baby!Ani)

It was impossible for a simple border dispute to go this badly. At least, that was what Obi-wan Kenobi thought before this morning. How a civil discussion could end up as the equivalent of a four-way battle was beyond him. He deflected a pirate’s attempt to shoot the disgruntled ambassador beside him and glanced back to where his eleven-year-old padawan was taking apart the terrorists’ bomb droid. He had the sudden helpless urge to laugh as he briefly imagined trying to explain this to the Council. 

“How is it coming, Anakin?” he asked, using a lull in the action to beckon the two primary dispute representatives to join him. Both of them hesitated from where they crouched on opposite sides of some crates, warily eyeing the confusion around them. Obi-wan gave them his best impression of Qui-gon’s stern, no-arguments look. 

They broke cover, hastily taking refuge in the relative safety behind the Jedi Knight. Realizing they were beside each other again, the two were at each other’s throats in an instant.   
“This proves your kind has had eyes set on our lands for years—you hired terrorists to shove us out!

“As if such an accusation from you bears weight! Hiring pirates so you get the spice without giving up the land!”

Obi-wan glanced backward, past Anakin and the ambassadors to the ship one of the representatives had arrived from just minutes ago. The argument brought to light several things: first, that the pirates and terrorists were a surprise to the representatives, as he could sense their equal offense at the accusations; second, the pirates were trying to get to the ship that was behind Obi-wan; and third, that the border agreement may still be salvageable. 

He Force-pushed several of the pirates back again, then pulled the weapons toward him to buy more time. “Would I be correct in assuming that the ryll spice is on that ship?” he asked. 

The representative they had so recently greeted nodded. His people had agreed to offer a sizable amount of military spice to the other side in a gesture of goodwill, allowing them to develop weapons that would equalize the fire-power between the two groups. And evidently, it was already here. 

That explained the pirates.

“I highly recommend investigating how the pirates found out about it, because they didn’t hire them” Obi-wan said. He darted forward, deflecting several blaster bolts back toward the pirates. Two of them dropped, and Obi-wan backed to his original position. Anakin was working feverishly over the toppled droid. 

“Now, what makes you believe your new allies hired terrorists to drive you out?” Obi-wan asked the ambassador. He said it as calmly as he could, though the worried look he had glimpsed on his padawan’s face was rather discomfiting. 

“The chestplate on the droid carrying that bomb has the symbol of their top military manufacturer.” 

Obi-wan searched the Force, both for warnings and to get a sense of the Force around the ambassador. Had he been wrong? 

“Uh, Mister Obi-wan?” Anakin said. He sounded tentative. “The symbol wasn’t manufactured with the part. It’s painted on.” 

Obi-wan nodded sagely, deflecting another round of blaster bolts. The pirates took cover again. “Thank you, Anakin,” he praised. The boy continued working on disarming the bomb, and Obi-wan shot another look at the nervously hunched representatives. “It is fairly clear that this is a misunderstanding. Neither side has broken the agreement, though it appears that someone wants to stop this dispute from being settled. I suggest you put your heads together and figure out who that might be.” 

The two glanced at each other. 

The Force blared a warning of danger, and Anakin suddenly rushed several paces beyond his master. At the same time, the half-dismantled body of the droid-turned-bomb flew overhead. It arced in the air, Forcefully thrown toward the pirates and away from the ship. 

Obi-wan threw himself backward, instinctively asking the Force to form a shield around them. The explosion, while much smaller than he thought it would be, shook the floor and blossomed an afterimage of light across the back of Obi-wan’s eyelids. 

When it was over he leaped to his feet, leaving the representatives to struggle to their feet, and looked around for his apprentice. His heart clutched in horror as he spotted a small form on the ground not far away. 

“Anakin!” 

Obi-wan fell to his knees beside the semi-conscious boy. He pushed away a wave of panic as he prevented Anakin from rolling onto the three-inch cut on his shoulder. Blood was already wetting the tunics. The pirates were gone, either all killed in the explosion or fled. Obi-wan scooped Anakin into his arms and ran for their ship, parked on the far end of the hangar. Anakin stirred against his chest.

Obi-wan walked up the ramp and grabbed the medkit. He lay Anakin on one of the bunks and opened the kit. The wound was by no means life-threatening, but he knew the terror Anakin felt whenever he was injured. Infection was deadly to slaves, after all. His apprentice had already made big steps towards realizing his safety, but Obi-wan could always tell how much Anakin worried about getting sick or being an inconvenience in any way. 

“Mister Obi-wan?” 

Obi-wan looked up to see Anakin watching him. “Yes?” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t get the bomb deactivated.” 

Obi-wan quirked one side of his mouth into a half smile. “It’s fine, Anakin. I don’t think I could have done it in such a short time either. You followed your instincts.” He gently wiped an antibiotic across the cut, cleaning away some of the blood and any grime. Anakin yelped. Obi-wan gently prevented Anakin from looking at the long cut, saying, “No, don’t look.” 

“Why? Is it bad?” 

“No, it’s not bad,” Obi-wan reassured. “It just hurts more when you look at it. It’s not deep. We’ll clean it up and it’ll heal good as new.” 

“Ok.” Anakin swung his legs, drumming his heels against the bunk while Obi-wan finished with the antibiotic and covered the cut. When he finished, the boy looked up at him, eyes serious. “Did we fail the mission? Are they going to break the agreement now?” 

“No, I think they’ll keep it,” Obi-wan smiled. He sent a portion of his pride down their master-padawan bond. “Your observation about the painted symbol was very helpful.”   
Anakin nodded, then looked down. His feet stilled. Obi-wan knew the signs that Anakin had something on his mind. He waited patiently. 

“I was trying to figure out the wires, but I thought you said the pirates and bomb were just a misunderstanding?” The boy glanced up to see Obi-wan’s nod, then kept fiddling with his hands. “How did you know?” 

Obi-wan studied the eleven-year old who had tried so hard to catch up and learn. He knew the boy lacked confidence. “Tell you what,” he said. “If I explain it to you, do you think you could tell the ambassadors? They heard some of it, but between you and me, I think they’re too suspicious of each other right now to really think it through.” 

Anakin grinned. “Yes, master.” 

Obi-wan didn’t miss the word. He had told Anakin to just call him “Mister Obi-wan” until he felt comfortable with the Jedi use of the word “master.” They had been on several missions together, and Anakin had tried to use the traditional term on multiple occasions. But this time, there was no flinch in their bond when he said it. 

Obi-wan ruffled the boy’s hair and sat beside him. “When the representative returned this morning there was something on his ship….”


	17. Coma (Continuation of "I Didn't Mean It")

Three tendays after his miraculous return, Obi-wan shattered. He knees buckled, eyes rolling back in his head as he collapsed into Ahsoka’s arms. She caught him, lowering the deadweight until his head was cradled in her lap. The Togruta’s bewilderment was quickly overrun with memories. 

The binary sunset was no longer a thing of beauty. Instead, it seemed mockingly ominous, with the radiant light slowly bleeding into red. Ahsoka knelt on the bluff, struggling to breathe. 

No, this couldn’t be happening. Not again. It had only been four span ago that she had knelt helplessly in the night air, holding this same limp form in her arms. She tightened her arms around her grandmaster’s shoulders. 

_Then, his Force signature had faded, finally flickering out with an apologetic sigh._ Ahsoka plunged into the Force, peering at Obi-wan. His signature now, too, was faint, but it wasn’t small. Not like a candle going out. When she brushed up against him she could see an impenetrable wall, rebuilt in a reflexive instant before he collapsed. His light seemed dull, smothered, but it was still there. 

_Then, his face was relaxed, almost peaceful, as if rain weren’t beginning to drip upon it._ His face was still now too, as if he were sleeping. _Then, Anakin had arrived, concern leaking all over the place._

“What happened?” 

_Then, Ahsoka had turned to face him._ Now, she kept her eyes on Obi-wan, regulating her own breathing. _His skin had grown pale and assumed a waxy pallor. His strong body was limp. And he remained still. So still._ Ahsoka slipped one hand free and pressed trembling fingers to Obi-wan’s throat. 

There. A pulse, strong and steady. 

Ahsoka choked back a sob of relief. “Get the medic.” Her voice lost the wobble the longer she spoke. “And bring a comm to contact the Jedi temple.” 

“What?” Anakin ran a hand through his hair. “What’s wrong with him? Ahsoka?” 

“Please, master, hurry.” He left, and Ahsoka ran the fingers of one hand through her grandmaster’s auburn hair, peering down at Obi-wan, watching him breathe. 

*******

The Halls of Healing were familiar to Ahsoka. Master Che and some staff had whisked Obi-wan away as soon as the shuttle landed on Coruscant, beckoning for Ahsoka to explain what had happened. The medics settled Obi-wan in one of the private rooms. Master Che invited Ahsoka to come with her as she entered the room. 

The Togruta bit her lip at the sight of Obi-wan, lying so still and pale in the crisp white sheets. He had been hooked up to several monitors, an I.V. in one hand for fluids and nutrients. He hadn’t woken up the entire trip to Coruscant. Nor, it appeared, had he stirred since. 

“All of his vitals are normal,” Master Che observed. “There are no visible wounds. Even his throat has healed.” The Jedi turned to Ahsoka. “I am going to try something,” she said softly. “The thought Master Kenobi had before collapsing. . . is rather telling.” She cleared her throat, placing a hand on Ahsoka’s shoulder. “I understand that Master Kenobi has a rather unique relationship to you. I would like you to help me try to contact him.”

Ahsoka looked at the unconscious form, not understanding. 

“We will reach out to him in the Force,” Master Che explained. “Master Kenobi is well-known for the strength of his mental shields.”

Ahsoka nodded. She knew this. It made Master Obi-wan very difficult to read. And he was a very private person. It made her feel privileged, somehow, to know him as well as she did. 

“Obi-wan may be the only one that can tell us exactly what is happening,” Master Che continued. “His coma is not caused by anything physical. The answer lies within him. Within his mind.” Then, as if she had read Ahsoka’s thoughts, she said, “I do not know that I would be strong enough to get through to him. His shielding is very strong. It is possible, however, that if he senses someone with me, someone close to him, he may allow us to enter.” 

Ahsoka swallowed. It would be an invasion of Master Kenobi’s privacy. But the ache in her chest when she looked at him, completely oblivious to the world around him, convinced her. 

She nodded. 

Master Che had her sit on Master Obi-wan’s other side. Following the healer’s guidance, Ahsoka took one of Obi-wan’s hands. A strange sense of loss pierced her at the lack of resistance. There was no reaction at all. She latched onto the fact that his hand was still warm, and that she was trying to help. 

Sinking into a joint meditation with an unfamiliar sentient was more difficult than Ahsoka had anticipated. The Togruta reached out to Master Che, tentatively looking at her in the Force. The signature was warm, kind, and very inviting; it was also stubborn and wise, with a hidden steeliness to it. Like Obi-wan, she realized vaguely. She pushed the thought away, centering on their mutual desire to help Obi-wan. Together they leaned into the Force, and Master Che guided her to the first wall protecting Master Obi-wan’s mind. 

It had been partially rebuilt. Ahsoka pictured reaching out and touching it. Not pushing, just gently knocking. At first there was no response to her or Master Che’s calls. 

Ahsoka finally resorted to the equivalent of leaning her forehead against a door. _Please, Obi-wan. I need you. Please._

Again, something splintered. For a terrifying moment Ahsoka wondered if she were the one hurting Obi-wan. Then she was swept away by the devastating current of fractured thoughts and emotion that her gentle prod unleashed.

********

Obi-wan was drowning. How long had he been fighting the ocean of veritable failure? Long enough that he longed for the emptiness to steal him away again. At first, he had waded against the painful memories, opening a channel to shunt the emotion and grief of the memories into the Force. But there was too much. The release almost seemed to form a collection point instead. Obi-wan hung on with grim tenacity and took the barrage. 

He had thought he was past the pain from many of the memories that swirled around him. The figures from his nightmares took turns rising up out of his memory pool. His recent realizations opened new wounds in the memories, bleeding out further misery. The figments of his nightmares surrounded him, towering over him and fixing him with their disappointed stares. Their voices blended with his own thoughts, creating a whirlwind that he couldn’t begin to decipher or control. He hunkered down and let it wash over him. 

He deserved it. 

_“You are weak. I will prove to him you are weak!”-- lonely—failure— “We thought you were different.” – Everyone I care for dies—guilt— “I knew there was something off about you from the start.”—Failure even as an outlaw—useless— “the Sith killer”—But Maul didn’t die. And what kind of Jedi gains a title for killing? — “Jedi only make things worse.”— My actions reflect poorly on the entire Order—shame— “You will not understand what I have to do…”—Both padawans under my care fell prey to the Dark—can’t even teach, couldn’t protect them— He failed them, badly—anguish—“Your arrogance will be your downfall”—“I don’t want you.”  
His resolve was crumbling in his hands. Not for the first time in his life, he wondered if he could just release himself into the Force. But would it accept him? A deep-rooted fear worried that it would reject him outright, or worse, accept him reluctantly. He pushed the fear into the Force and took the next wave.  
“Master Kenobi, you disappoint me.”—exhausted—Why do they expect so much from me? I can’t do it. Can’t, not good enough, letting them down— 212 dead Jedi on Geonosis. Because I got myself captured.—Stupid—pain—Why did they come for me?—Should have died instead—it hurts—Not enough, too much, take up less space, he needed to shrink—How can I have so much awe for the beauty of the galaxy and yet not want to live in it?—‘cuz I don’t contribute anything to it—grim acceptance—despair— Councilor, Master, Negotiator, High General, and still he couldn’t get it right-- “pitiful”-- What was he good for?_

_Die Jedi, die Jedi, die Jedi, die, die, DIE, Die, DIE JEDI_

“Enough!” Obi-wan howled. But the phantoms surrounding him continued, and he turned, taking in the vast number of them, feeling very, very small. Broken. Don’t let them see. He bound the pain up tight within himself, let the phantoms rage, but shielded it from anyone around him as best he could. 

His presence was worse than poison. No matter his efforts, that didn’t seem to change. The least he could do was minimize the damage to others. So he fiercely tightened his shields, refusing to let the monsters out.

_Master Obi-wan?_

Ahsoka? 

She sounded upset, almost. His first instinct was to help. But no, no, all he’d ever wanted to do was help, and where had that gotten anyone? They were better off without him. Obi-wan curled himself more tightly inside his shields. 

_Please, Obi-wan, I need you._

No, padawan. You don’t. No one does. You are capable and wise beyond your years. 

_Please._

She was distraught. He lowered his shields a fraction, just long enough to go to her. 

*******

The tide pushed Ahsoka right out of meditation. When her eyes opened, she was unsurprised to find that her cheeks were wet. Her grip tightened around Master Kenobi’s hand. She had learned more about her grandmaster’s life in that brief glimpse, felt more turmoil and pain than she believed possible. 

There was a faint crease between Obi-wan’s brows now. Ahsoka looked at Master Che as the monitoring devices changed their pattern for an instant. 

“Oh, Obi,” the healer whispered, leaning forward and gently cupping his cheek in her palm. The monitors beeped again, and Master Che sat back. Her dark eyes met Ahsoka’s. They were also filled with tears. “He’s waking up.” 

Ahsoka nodded, wiping at her eyes with one hand. The other still clung to Master Obi-wan’s. “Will he be all right?” she whispered. 

“I don’t know,” Master Che said simply. She met Ahsoka’s eyes again. “But I believe so. Obi-wan has a habit of beating the odds. He’s stubborn that way. I should know, he’s been here often enough.” 

Ahsoka only nodded at the attempt to make her smile. The glimpses into her grandmaster’s past had shown her more suffering than she had ever known. He had been tortured, rejected, faced Sith and loss and faced things so Dark a mere foretaste frightened her. And each time, he seemed to come out of it stronger. More kind. More Light. 

The rejection after the Hardeen mission had hurt him deeply. She had seen it. Felt a portion of it. But it didn’t break him, not really. He had continued to push on, doing his best, resolutely doing whatever was asked, doing more. Doing what he thought was best for those around him, though his conclusions and reasons for doing so sent a pang through Ahsoka. 

No, it wasn’t Sith, or torture, stress, or pain hadn’t caused Master Kenobi’s shields to break. It was kindness. Kindness and love that he sincerely believed he didn’t deserve.  
We have to fix that, she thought as she watched him wake. 

It took several minutes for him to fully return to them. _Shame-guilt-panic-lonely-failure_ leached into the Force around him as he slowly gained consciousness. Ahsoka concentrated, trying to wrap him in love and comfort. 

His eyelids fluttered open, revealing blue-grey eyes filled with confusion, then guilt. “Ahsoka?” he whispered. His projected emotions were cut off abruptly. His eyes slid away from hers. 

“We are in the halls of healing,” Master Che said gently. 

Obi-wan considered that for a moment, taking in the equipment and assessing his body for injury. “Why?” he asked finally. “I’m fine.” 

Ahsoka flinched. Fine? He called _that_ fine? “We were worried about you, Master,” the Togruta said. She squeezed his hand gently. 

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Obi-wan whispered. His eyes closed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” The apology spilled from him over and over. Instinctively, she knew it wasn’t just to her. She had seen some of the phantoms haunting his mind. 

“You don’t need to be sorry for living, Obi-wan,” Master Che said firmly. The Jedi Master’s eyes flicked to hers in disbelief. The healer stood. “You will stay here until the Mind Healers say so,” she said. 

Neither of them missed the spike of anxiety and alarm. “Not necessary,” Obi-wan said automatically. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience—” 

Master Che’s voice broke. “You are _never_ an inconvenience, Obi-wan.” The ferocity of the words silenced him, and Master Che softened again. “I will be back soon to enjoy your company.” 

The healer left, and Obi-wan turned his bewildered expression to the padawan beside him. “Ahsoka? You were distressed. What happened? Is Anakin alright? Did—”  
Ahsoka cut him off. “Anakin is fine. So are the men. They finished the battle and will be back to Coruscant soon.” 

Master Kenobi smiled tiredly. “Then what disturbed you? I felt it, a few minutes ago. And before . . .” 

Ahsoka didn’t know what to say. He seemed so normal. But she knew the pain he carried inside now. She couldn’t understand it all. “I just needed you here with us,” she said finally. Hopefully, she sent a tentative question toward him. Obi-wan hesitated for an instant. Then he agreed. 

Ahsoka hugged him. “We need you, Master,” she whispered in his ear. “We need _you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know where the fan trope that Obi-wan doesn't take care of himself and has self-esteem issues came from, but if anyone tries to pry it from my cold dead hands I will haunt them from the other side. That man has been through so much trauma.  
> I made sure Obi-wan got a hug in this fic and I think it would be the first of many. :'3


	18. Prompt: Car Crash (padawan!Anakin & Obi)

“You have to tell me someday, Master.” 

Obi-wan hid a smile. “Oh, must I?” 

Anakin looked over. “I don’t see why you won’t just share it.” 

“How I met Dex is my business, Anakin. And watch where you’re driving.” 

Anakin rolled his eyes. “Why? It’s not like anything ever happens. The route never changes. And have you ever actually seen someone brake on the traffic routes?” 

“That’s not the point.” 

Anakin smirked. "It's embarrassing, isn't it? That's why you won't tell." 

"Embarrassing for whom, is the question," Obi-wan said comfortably. Then a sinking feeling drained the air around him. Obi-wan frowned. “Did you feel that?” 

His sixteen-year-old apprentice nodded, looking around and over the edge of the speeder. “I don’t see anything though. Do you?” 

Obi-wan listened, reaching for the Force and questioning. “Above,” he said sharply, just as the sound of an engine at full throttle plummeted toward them. Anakin jerked the controls, twisting the speeder nearly on its side as the delinquent speeder shot past so that it wouldn’t clip the front of their vehicle. 

“They’re going to kill someone!” Obi-wan spluttered. His keen eyes tracked the speeder’s progress as Anakin straightened the speeder. 

“Not if we stop them,” Anakin said. He was already banking the speeder, moving it into an angled dive. Intent on catching the wayward driver, Anakin didn’t bother weaving around the traffic lanes. 

“Padawan, do you really think this is the best way to—” 

The speeder ahead of them dropped into a steep dive again, plunging to the lower levels. The end of Obi-wan’s question was left behind as Anakin tipped the speeder’s nose straight down to follow. The two Jedi were pushed back in their seats. Obi-wan tried to let out a steadying breath, but his fingers refused to loosen from the side of the speeder. 

The other driver seemed to become aware of their pursuers. It continued its path towards the underbelly of Coruscant but began dodging pylons. Anakin followed its path turn for turn, a slow grin growing on his still-youthful face as the chase led them through increasingly dangerous maneuvers. If he had laughed, it would have been wild with the thrill of speed and danger. 

Abruptly, the speeder they were chasing pulled up, careening into one of the lower sectors. A small cluster of sentients cheered as the Jedi followed suit, close behind. Obi-wan braced his feet on the floor to orient himself, breathing in though his nose as the G-forces began to get to him. He tracked the vehicle in front of them carefully, getting an idea of what the driver would do next. 

The Jedi's brow furrowed as they turned into a narrow space between two buildings. Was that another speeder? The familiar pressure was building behind his eyes, but . . . “Anakin, I think he’s chasing someone.” 

They shot out into a wider space, and another group clapped and whistled as the three speeders rocketed past. 

“Uh, I think this is a race of some kind,” Anakin said. The realization sobered him. He didn’t dare turn his head to look at his master. 

Obi-wan would have felt relieved if he didn’t think too hard about how Anakin could recognize an illegal speeder race. “Then it’s not our job to—” 

The speeders ahead of them dropped suddenly as the platform dropped a semi-level. The Force drew back in alarm, a swooping sensation in Obi-wan’s gut. “Anakin, don’t!” Too late. Their speeder dropped just as the other racers were leveling out. 

The lead racer failed to control the drop, parts flying into the air. The explosion threw the other speeder backwards, lifting it on the swelling fire. Anakin pulled the controls again, but he couldn’t avoid it. 

There was a sharp jerk and a metallic crunch. There was a brief heat, and the world tumbled around them. Another hard jolt followed by a flash of pain and immediate blackness.

*****

Obi-wan woke to find a sharp shard of metal inches from his eye. He blinked it into focus. He was on the ground, but it was spinning. No, it wasn’t. He closed his eyes. There was an acrid smell—fuel, and smoke. Something wet on his forehead. He was nauseous, almost bad enough to drown out the overall sense of pain. He could hear . . . voices. Faintly. Concerned. Asking if someone was alive. 

_Anakin!_

Obi-wan’s eyes flew open. He rolled his head carefully, ignoring the stab of pain that sent through his skull, to see his padawan several feet away. The boy wasn’t moving, and Obi-wan pushed back fear as he saw what looked like blood on Anakin’s tunics. 

He squirmed from beneath the twisted metal of the wrecked speeder. The world tilted crazily. In the nose, out the mouth. In, out. It hurt to move. The pain dragged a groan from his lips, but he pushed on. Not trusting himself to walk, Obi-wan dragged himself over to his apprentice. 

“Anakin?” His voice was shaking. 

The boy groaned but didn’t quite wake. Alive. But not well. Obi-wan examined him carefully, fingers fumbling. It was blood. Anakin had a gash on his arm, likely from skidding across the duracrete. He couldn’t see any shrapnel or large debris in the wound. The black leather had protected the skin on his shoulder somewhat, much to Obi-wan’s relief. But it could be dislocated. There could be several other injuries. 

For a moment Obi-wan felt helpless. He looked up at the small crowd that was gathering. He registered someone already calling for medvac. After dismissing the danger of another explosion nearby despite the still-burning wreckage around them, Obi-wan turned his attention back to his apprentice. He placed trembling fingers on the boy’s temple, reaching into the Force. 

Than Anakin stirred, half turning on his back. Obi-wan steadied him, ignoring the drops of liquid threatening to drip into his left eye. “Easy,” he told his apprentice. “Don’t move.”  
“You look terrible, Master,” Anakin croaked. 

“I’m fine,” Obi-wan lied. In truth, he was still nauseous, his head felt like it was going to split, the vision of his left eye seemed off, and his entire body was going to bruise. But Anakin didn’t need to know that. His apprentice had been thrown from the speeder and could have internal damage. Or a concussion. 

“You’re bleeding.” Anakin tried to lift his hand to Obi-wan’s face but winced as the movement agitated his bleeding shoulder. A fresh trickle of blood oozed onto the black tunics, and Obi-wan’s eyes widened. 

Someone was approaching. They pressed a clean-ish cloth towards Obi-wan and he took it, mumbling his thanks. Anakin whimpered softly when Obi-wan pressed the rag to the wound. The Jedi Knight made soothing sounds as he tied the cloth into a rough bandage. He brushed the hair back from Anakin’s face, sitting so the boy’s head could rest on his leg. 

“Where else does it hurt, padawan?” he asked softly. 

Anakin was quiet. “Wrist. Knee. Head,” he confessed finally. His eyelids were fluttering shut. 

“Stay awake, padawan,” Obi-wan said anxiously. “Talk to me.” 

“I’m sorry,” Anakin grumbled. He forced his eyes open to look up at Obi-wan’s face. “Should’ve seen it coming.” 

Obi-wan shook his head, momentarily mute. Anakin was showing no inclination to get up, which worried him. 

“You hurt?” Anakin asked weakly. 

“I’m not black and blue enough to identify as a chameleon creature, so no,” Obi-wan tried to joke. Anakin just huffed, face twisting slightly in pain afterwards. Obi-wan’s heart lurched. 

“And your vesti… G-force thing?” 

Obi-wan wasn’t surprised Anakin didn’t remember his master’s diagnosis. It was a concept the young pilot couldn’t quite wrap his head around. “Just say I don’t like flying,” Obi-wan said. “I’m fine.” Flickering red and blue in his periphery vision told him that medics had arrived. He ran his fingers through Anakin’s hair again. “You’re going to be ok,” he whispered. 

“Always,” Anakin mumbled. “S’long as you’re here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "vesti... G-force thing" that Anakin refers to is G-force induced vestibular disfunction. There's a post on GIVD and how it might explain why Obi-wan hates flying here:
> 
> <https://swranger.tumblr.com/post/640618431245369344/the-real-reason-obi-wan-kenobi-hates-flying>


	19. Prompt: Betrayal (prequel to Example)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This short tidbit is kind of a prequel to my Example AU.

“It shall be done, my lord.” 

CC-2224 relayed the order to the rest of the GAR, then turned to eye where the traitorous Jedi was climbing the wall to the upper levels. Hs eyes narrowed, wondering briefly why orders for his battaltion had been different and why he shouldn’t just order the canons to blast the Jedi from the wall. But 2224 had his orders. He was also a strategist, and he knew the auburn-haired man’s capabilities. 

He commed the medical team, issuing rapid orders. With everything in place and the rest of the battalion alerted of the Jedi’s true nature, 2224 moved forward with the attack plan. They would bide their time. 

*****

Obi-wan pushed the slightly-sweaty strands of hair away from his forehead. Now that the battle was essentially won, he allowed his focus to lift beyond the battle. His heart lifted cautiously. 

Grievous was dead. Obi-wan had left his remains as a putrid pile of organic mater and scrap metal near the cyborg’s ship. He should retrieve evidence to prove the Separatist general’s death. Clean it up so the people of Utapau wouldn’t have to. And then . . . Grievous and Dooku were both dead now. He deactivated his saber and turned to look at the clones around them. 

This could be it, he realized. This could be the end of the war. 

He allowed himself a slight smile of relief at the thought. Dooku wasn’t supposed to be dead, but he was, and without Grievous perhaps the Confederacy of Independent Systems would be open to peace talks. The Jedi could go back to being peace keepers, free of the politics that so tangled and ensnared them. And the clones could live their lives on the planet the Council was preparing for them. 

Obi-wan smiled tiredly as Cody came up beside him. He couldn’t wait to tell his men, especially the 212th, about Baluria. “That just about does it,” the Jedi said aloud. “A few men should be able to get the last of—” 

An odd feeling prodded his consciousness. The wrongness was similar to a warning in the Force. He opened himself more fully to it, trying to understand. 

**_Alarm-pain-wrong-betrayal-grief-death!_ **

The strength of it was staggering. It was dark and heavy, shot through with screams and sorrow. Amidst it all, Obi-wan felt the little lights that connected the Jedi blinking out. Some were barely perceptible, as he would expect from such a great distance. Others were accompanied with blurred shouts and the faint sound of gunfire. The clamor was also sudden silence, and he couldn’t make sense of that at all. But it _hurt._

There was a faint prick in his neck. Wasn’t there? There was so much pain in the Force he couldn’t be sure. 

But it must have been. The next few seconds brought him back to his own body. There were hands supporting him. The Force was becoming more and more muted. The medic was one of those beside him, so he must have been administered a Force suppressor of some kind. Obi-wan didn’t know how Helix had gotten one, but the few seconds of pure agony in the Force made being cut off from it almost a relief. 

“Something’s happening out there,” Obi-wan croaked. “Something’s wrong.” 

He tried to brush the lingering hands away, but the clones tightened their hold. In the blink of an eye Cody had taken the lightsaber from Obi-wan’s hand. The Jedi let him. The clones seemed . . . rigid now that the fighting was done. The way they were holding onto him now felt tense, as if they were going to restrain him. Cody stepped out of reach. He hadn’t removed his helmet. 

“Cody?” Obi-wan asked with concern. “What’s happening?” 

He moved to tug one arm free. Instantly the clones holding him adjusted their grip, pulling his arms behind him and pinning his wrists behind his back. Obi-wan’s brain stuttered to a confused stop. 

****

“Cody? What’s happening?” 

CC-2224 switched the external mic on to his helmet. “General Obi-wan Kenobi,” he intoned firmly. “You are no longer our commander.” He jerked his head to the soldiers holding the defector, and they began dragging him toward the Republic starship. Soldiers fell in around them, adding an extra guard to prevent the dangerous criminal’s escape. 

The Jedi traitor balked. Progress toward the starship slowed as the man began to fight. He nearly got one arm free before a resourceful soldier behind him smashed the butt of his blaster against the back of the man’s head. The Jedi sagged, not quite unconscious. 

CC-2224 marched to the bridge while the men under his command dragged the limp prisoner to the detainment cell they had prepared for him. The marshal commander wasn’t sure what had caused the Jedi to stumble just as the men were closing in on him, but it had been a stroke of luck. The orders from the Supreme Commander had been clear: Bring Kenobi in alive, no matter the cost. 

CC-2224 had vowed it would be done. 

Good soldiers follow orders.


	20. Prompt: Hiding Injury (Waxer)

Krell had lied. 

Waxer pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the burn from the blaster wound. Brothers, he thought numbly. It was our brothers. 

The devastation didn’t sink in immediately. He was far too dumbfounded for that. 

General Kenobi had left some of the 212th to guard the rear while he and the rest of the battalion moved towards the capital. Krell had arrived and quickly taken charge. Waxer hadn’t liked the abrasive basilisk, but he was a general, and a Jedi one at that. Krell had ordered Waxer to take out a platoon and watch for the attackers. He had claimed he couldn’t contact General Kenobi, that the 501st had been attacked by natives. That those same natives were posing as his dead brothers, using their armor. 

Lies. All lies. 

Waxer swayed on his feet, staring down at a dead trooper at his feet. The murky night of the planet was hardly pierced by the bioluminescent plants. Most of the men under his small command were dead, and Waxer couldn’t . . . He’d shot to kill. To maim. The clones knew the weakest points in their armor and had aimed for those. Aimed to kill the natives. But they weren’t natives, they were _vod,_ brothers. 

He heard the words Captain Rex was saying into the ceasefire, but Waxer couldn’t move. Saw the living removing their helmets, moving closer to stand face to face in disbelief. 

A hand rested on his shoulder pauldron, and he heard his name. Dazedly, Waxer turned his head. 

“Who gave the order to attack us?” It was Rex. 

“General Krell,” Waxer whispered. “He lied to us. Sent us to these coordinates. Said they were using our armor. But. . . it was you.” He sagged back. Someone caught him, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying anymore. The murkiness was in his mind now. He could barely feel the pain of his wound through it. 

_Brothers. We killed brothers._

_Because of Krell._

The thought revived him enough that he stood on his own two feet again. Krell was still back there with another full platoon of the 212th. Those men were not safe with the basilisk. Waxer needed to get back, to warn his brothers. Contact General Kenobi. He would know what to do. 

“You need to sit down, Waxer,” someone was telling him. They were trying to move him, pushing on him gently, and now the searing pain flared hot and bright. Waxer grabbed onto thoughts of the men still with Krell and straightened, pushing away the worried hands. 

“It’s just a scratch,” he lied. He looked in the direction Captain Rex had gone. “I need to talk with the Captain still.” He felt bad about the deception, but all the medical care in the world would never heal the pain of knowing his brothers were in danger. 

With a glance over his shoulder, Waxer faded away into the foggy night, leaving his platoon in the care of Captain Rex. They were safer there than with Krell. 

The traitor had betrayed them. _Traitor. Betrayed._ The words had a hollow feel to them. To apply them to a Jedi seemed wrong. Treasonous. The Jedi were _good._ They fought and died with the clones. They were _kind._ Allowed them to use their names. Waxer’s own General took the time to check on the men, joked with them, and mourned them in his own way when they took losses. 

Waxer stumbled. His feet weren’t moving properly anymore. He felt sluggish but strangely floaty. After speaking with Rex, he knew Krell had lied on purpose. Why? What did he gain from it? The clone staggered again as another thought occurred to him. _Did General Kenobi know Krell was a traitor?_

He fell. 

No. His General, his alor, would have done something to stop it if he had known. But the thought was terrifying. How did the Jedi not know? Jedi could sense things. Why hadn’t they sensed the intentions of Krell? 

It was growing darker. Waxer tried to get up, but he couldn’t. He was too weak, he realized. The thought lit a torch of terror in his mind. He wasn’t going to make it back in time to warn his brothers. 

Waxer’s fingers fumbled with the communicator he had been given. He keyed in General Kenobi’s frequency with trembling fingers. The General was his last chance. 

“General,” he gasped. “Krell lied. He had us killing each other.” Each word felt like a punch to his gut. His lungs were heaving now. He didn’t have much time. “We have to stop him, sir.” The words were choking in his throat. “Please, General. Save us.” 

He fumbled as the pushed the send button. The communicator slipped from numb fingers. Waxer slumped to the ground, cheek resting on dust he could not feel. A single tear leaked from his eye as he looked at the small device. 

The last thing he saw was the blinking light that told him the message did not send.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry.  
> This one is short too, but I couldn't drag it out any longer. Umbara hurts more than enough without adding to it.


	21. Prompt: Field Surgery (Chewbacca)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: mentions of blood and injury

“I don’t see any cache of weapons,” a very miffed Han Solo said. He faced the interior of the cave, having waited for his vision to adjust from the blinding white outside to the darker light. “Looks like this whole trip was a waste.” 

Chewbacca rumbled. 

“Maybe.” Han planted gloved hands on his hips, peering deeper into the cave. “Why don’t you go check it out?” 

The wookie chuffed. 

“Fine,” Han agreed. “We’ll go together.” 

The two stepped further away from the frigid wind. Han turned on his lamp, shining it into the crevices. The beam wasn’t strong enough to penetrate the deeper recesses of the cave. It could go for miles, and likely did. Han sniffed and wiped at his nose. Chewbacca hefted his blaster as they looked at each other. The wookie shrugged, and they advanced slowly into the wide hole. The dark rocks glittered with frost, and their breath clouded in front of them. 

“Do you think there’s something waiting for us down there?” Han half whispered, panning the light back and forth as he walked. Chewbacca’s response was anything but reassuring. 

“Well that’s just great!” Their voices were rising, echoing off the glistening stalactites. It rattled around them, increasing Han’s apprehension. “Wait!” he gestured wildly, hushing his friend. Chewie’s throaty warble went quiet. “I don’t know,” Han said a trifle crossly. “It’s just if there is something in here let’s not wake it up, all right?” 

There was no sign of anything having disturbed the frost, no sign of footprints. No sign of the cache of supplies he was supposed to be retrieving for Leia, either. He shined the light on the walls of the cavern again. It was narrowing, and the small cracks and crevices weren’t large enough to admit any sizable creature. Still, Han couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Luke always said to trust instinct, and the ex-smuggler’s were telling him there was danger. 

At long last, the icy folds of the rock revealed the crates the Resistance had sequestered away. They were frosted with thick layers of ice. Han swept the light over the glistening piles. Only when he had checked the main corners of the room did Han flip some of the lines holding the tarps in place. 

“Still latched tight,” he said. He grinned at Chewie. “Think you can help me move some of these?” 

Chewie pushed experimentally on one of the crates. At first nothing happened, and Chewie groaned, feet sliding back an inch or two. Then a sharp crackling sound split the air as the ice freezing the crates to the ground released their hold. The crate jolted forward, and the wookie lost his balance. 

Han laughed, struggling to lend his friend a hand. “Guess we’ll call in the loading crew after all. Come on, ya frozen furball. Let’s go back and get a signal to—” 

It came from nowhere. Something hit Han in the back, He fell face first in the snow, the hood of his parka protecting the back of his neck from something sharp. Weight shifted across his back. Layered growling filled his ears. Whatever pressed him to the ground pushed hard, once, then it was gone. 

Han huffed, rolling to one side and pushing himself up on one elbow. 

There was a sleek, snarling beast on Chewie’s back. The wookie reached back, turning and trying to fling the thing off. Long claws hooked in Chewie’s fur, back claws raking the wookie’s back. Chewbacca howled. 

Han lunged to his feet and threw himself at the creature, narrowly missing being clubbed in the temple by the violent wookie. Han jumped, wrapping his arms around the thing right as its teeth snapped at Chewie’s neck. He pulled backward, bodily hauling the beast from his friend’s back. 

All three crashed to the ground. 

The feline tumbled from Han’s arms, rolling away. His shoulder landed on something hard. He clutched at it, recognizing the shape. Chewie’s blaster was bigger than Han’s, but he’d used it before. He sighted instinctively as the catlike animal spun, double tails lashing the air. 

The bolt of energy took the creature right as it leaped. Han threw himself away from the extended claws and glinting fangs. 

The creature was dead when it hit the ground. Its legs collapsed beneath it, body plowing into the cave floor. It whined once, whitish eyes fogging over. Han’s heart was racing. He let his head fall back with relief. Chewie’s blaster was still in his hands. 

At the thought of the wookie, Han clambered back to his feet. “Chewie? Chewie!” 

The wookie was still lying on the ground. His name elicited only an unintelligible moaning sound. Adrenaline surged again at the sound. Han knelt beside Chewbacca, pushing the hood back a little from his face. It was too dim to see properly. Light. He needed the light! 

He swiped it up from where it had fallen and returned to Chewie. The wookie stirred this time. 

“Easy, Chewie, don’t move for a second. I need to take a look at this.” 

The wookie didn’t protest. He just laid head back down. 

Worried, Han inspected his friend. At first the dark fur hid the wounds. Then he noticed that some of the fur was darker and bent close. 

It was bad. The lacerations were in rows of three, and many were deep. The worst one appeared to be on the back of the wookie’s shoulder. It was bleeding the heaviest, at any rate. Han sat back on his heels. He hadn’t brought medical equipment. No bacta, and the cuts probably needed stitches. He would have to go to the mouth of the cave and see if he could reception. Radio the droid to bring the ship so he could get the supplies… 

Supplies!

“Stay down for a minute,” he said. Chewie grunted a question.

“No, I’m fine. Scratches on my neck, but they’re barely bleeding. It wasn’t clawing at me. Just knocked me over.” 

Han Solo used the butt of the wookie’s sturdy blaster to chip awake at the ice that had formed beneath the tarp. He found a crate that had medical labels on the outside and forced the lid open. 

Breath clouding in front of him, Han rushed back to Chewbacca’s side. His hands were beginning to tremble. How was he going to do this? His gloves were thick and would be cumbersome, but if he took them off it wouldn’t take long to frostbite his fingers. 

“Alright, Chewie, don’t hit me.” He pressed a semi-solid blanket against the worst cut, hoping it would further reduce the now-sluggish flow. 

Chewie came to life with a roar, arm swinging wildly. He stopped himself just short of whacking Han. The wookie’s cry dwindled down to sulky words and gargled sounds of pain.   
Han held out the blanket. “I’m sorry it’s cold. Everything here is cold. If you don’t want this part, fine. But I’m gonna have to sew some of these shut or they’ll just get worse.” 

Chewie shook his head but stopped quickly. 

“This’ll be easier if you lay back down,” Han said, trying to sound soothing. It wasn’t his first tendency, but he’d been learning with Leia. Sometimes. Occasionally. 

Chewbacca eased himself back down, and Han tucked another of the blankets around him to try and protect him from the cold. Then he took off one glove and threaded the thick suturing line, knotting the end before blowing on his fingers and putting the glove back on. 

“Here we go,” he warned Chewie. The wookie tensed slightly at the first pull of the needle, then lapsed into a stoic silence. 

It was slow going. Han had to hold the light against his shoulder with his head, and try to feel the edges of the cuts through both the gloves and the wookie’s thick fur. He paused occasionally to wipe away blood and mutter the occasional word to Chewie. 

“Probably just wanted to get out of moving this stuff, right?” he teased. 

Chewbacca gave a sharp retort. Han laughed, some of his anxiety eased by the wookie’s resilient attitude. 

“You can't talk like that around Ben until it’s older,” he warned. “The princess would ship you off if you don’t.” 

Another comment.

Han smiled. “Yeah, you’re right. She’d probably just ship us both off.” He tied off the last off the last stitch and let out a long breath. “Done,” he said. 

Chewbacca rolled his eyes as the light was turned towards his face. Han set the blaster near his friend’s hand. The wookie looked at him, questioning. 

“I’m gonna go call that blasted gold pain-in-the-neck droid and have him tell R2 to bring the ship to the mouth of the cave. You stay here.” Han stood, stretching his legs and waiting for the blood to flow back into his feet. Another trip to the cached supplies, and he set two more of the blankets over Chewie, covering his long legs and lightly easing the fabric over his back and shoulders. 

“Don’t freeze on me. I’ll be back soon.” Han took one look back at the wounded wookie. “How did a scruffy nerfherder like me get involved in situations like this?” he muttered. Then he jogged towards the entrance.


	22. Recovery (cont. of 12 and 17)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: depression, low self-esteem, depiction of disordered thinking  
> Continuation of "I didn't mean it" and "coma" (12 and 17).

He’d been doing a lot of sleeping. This was the second day since he had woken up in the Halls of Healing. Ahsoka had stayed for a long time, until Master Che had finally convinced her to go rest in an actual bed. Vokara had stayed for a while, but after a while Obi-wan had pretended to sleep and she had snuck out. He should probably feel bad, but he had then actually fallen asleep, so maybe he didn't. 

Obi-wan stared at the ceiling. Ordinarily, he would have been long gone from the medical hall by now. But getting out of bed required more energy than he could summon at the moment. 

When had he gotten so weak? There was nothing physically wrong with him. He was better than this. He should be able to at least get out of bed, instead of sitting here, useless, and inconveniencing the medical staff. He was supposed to be helping with the war effort, not reclining in bed while others bled and died. He was just being dramatic; getting out of bed didn’t take energy. _Come on, Kenobi._

But he couldn’t do it. 

The failure triggered the hurricane inside him. _Die Jedi._

Obi-wan closed his eyes and turned his head on the pillow, as if he would be able to drown out the voice. He knew, in the back of his mind, that many of the thoughts were illogical. But the emotions. Even with the jagged edges dulled by lethargy, they made him feel raw and bleeding inside. 

Obi-wan pulled in a ragged breath. No. He didn’t _get to_ feel like this. Unlike many in the galaxy, he didn’t have a _reason_ to feel this way. He had friends, purpose, and his physical needs were all taken care of through the Jedi Order. He got to travel and see some of the most incredible things in the galaxy. He tried to help people, and—

_You’re the Jedi that makes things worse._ The visceral twisting in his chest was like a key turning in a lock. Just like that, the phantoms of his turmoil rose up to haunt him. 

_No noo nonono_

It was panic, and fear. Like Zigoola had taken up residence in his head. _Release them. Come on, every Jedi can do it. Pathetic…_

Obi-wan slipped into a light meditation. His emotions were controlling him, keeping them from doing his duty. If he could just let go… 

He went to war with the demons. 

They were determined to beat him into submission. And he was so tired. 

Obi-wan’s body lay in the Halls of Healing, seemingly in a peaceful sleep. He didn’t stir. He didn’t notice the two familiar Force signatures in his doorway until one of them cleared their throat. 

“Obi-wan?”

His eyes fluttered open. “Anakin?” 

“It’s us, Master Kenobi,” a younger female voice chimed in. 

Ahsoka. Shame flushed away the grayness that had overtaken him for the past few hours. They knew. They knew how little it took to bring him down. He was supposed to be stronger than this. At least try to be a good example for his grandpadawan. And now she would always see him as broken. 

*******

Obi-wan was pale. Anakin studied his old master, astonished that his face could be so serene when he was practically oozing pain and _shame._ Quick as a flash, the emotions disappeared like they had been tucked away. Or erased. 

Obi-wan smiled at Ahsoka. It was a threadbare smile, but real. “Welcome back,” he said to the Togruta. “Did you rest well?” 

“Yes,” Ahsoka said, pulling over a second chair. “How are you feeling?” 

Anakin sat at Obi-wan’s bedside as his master gave the lie everyone told: “I’m fine.” 

“Right.” Anakin ran a hand through his hair. “Obi-wan, what _happened?_ You wouldn’t wake up, and…” 

Force. He didn’t know how to bring up what Ahsoka had seen in Obi-wan’s mind. She had told him on the way here the basics of what had happened. She didn’t tell him everything—he knew because the Togruta had pressed her lips together and shook her head—and insisted they speak with Master Che before coming to see Obi-wan. 

Anakin still hadn’t absorbed everything the head healer had told them. Anakin was the one that had a hard time releasing his emotions. Obi-wan was the objective, logical one. A deep part of Anakin that was still angry with the Jedi Master wanted to ask if Obi-wan understood how it felt to hurt inside, now. But the way Master Che had talked, there was something going on in Obi-wan’s mind that went deeper than grief. And the look that Master Che had shared with Ahsoka had been troubling. 

It stirred dread and worry in Anakin. They had looked like Obi-wan was in terrible danger. 

“I haven’t been sleeping well of late,” Obi-wan answered, pulling Anakin from his thoughts. “I suppose my body just decided it had had enough and took a nap.” 

Anakin frowned. The half-truth was so like the ginger-haired Negotiator. Obi-wan was the master of deceptive maneuvers, on and off the battlefield. He was telling a half truth, admitting to a lesser problem to evade the bigger question. 

“Then what are you still doing here?” he asked, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. “Usually it takes a whole med team to keep you in medical.” 

“Every once in a while I like to shake things up a bit,” Obi-wan said lightly. “Keep them on their toes.” He didn’t give Anakin time to ask anything else. “Tell me about the campaign,” he requested. 

More deflection. But Obi-wan’s eyes were almost pleading with him, so Anakin went along with it. He gave a sketch of the mission, assuring his master that the 212th had done their part well. 

“They always do,” Obi-wan murmured. The shadows around his eyes made the irises look more gray. His voice was small as he said, “I don’t deserve them.” 

Anakin’s heart dropped. “They’re good men,” he agreed cautiously. “But what do you mean, you don’t deserve them?” 

Obi-wan winced. Noticeably. He clearly hadn’t meant to say the last part out loud. “I—they—they deserve someone who— better—” 

Obi-wan was nearly incoherent, and. Anakin exchanged a look with Ahsoka. The Force around his master conveyed discomfort. 

Ahsoka leaned forward, reaching for one of Obi-wan’s hands. “Master Kenobi, your men think very highly of you,” she said gently. “They wouldn’t want anyone else as their General.” 

“Perhaps, _before_ ,” Obi-wan said painfully. “But they don’t know any better. They didn’t know I’m so—” he choked off, head ducking. _Broken,_ he projected to them. 

Anakin held back a gasp. The word was accompanied with what Anakin could only describe as despair. “No,” he said, scooting closer to Obi-wan. “You’re not. You’re just tired, and everyone is still adjusting to—to what happened. It’ll get better. I promise.” He laid his flesh hand just above where Ahsoka was still holding the ginger’s hand. 

Obi-wan wouldn’t look up. “I can’t talk about this right now.” His voice was shaking. 

_Helplessness-useless-failure-shame_

Anakin stood in alarm, throwing his arms around his master, pulling him forward into the embrace. Obi-wan was trembling as more of his turmoil was revealed. He tensed at Anakin’s touch, then slumped into it. 

“I’m sorry,” Obi-wan whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…” 

The reflexive phrase broke Ahsoka’s heart. 

“Sshhh,” Anakin said, loosening his hold so Obi-wan could pull back if he wanted to. He was relieved when the older Jedi didn’t. At least not right away. Obi-wan's head stayed resting on Anakin's shoulder, allowing his apprentice to hold him up. 

Anakin met Ahsoka’s eyes. Frankly, it was alarming to see Obi-wan in such a state. His master was struggling to pull himself together, but Anakin still caught glimpses of self-loathing and loneliness. _Misery—failed the Order’s teachings— “I don’t want you”—If he could just get one thing right—embarrassment—better off without me_

Anakin realized with horror that some of the words were his. Words he had spoken in anger, when he wanted Obi-wan to hurt as much as he had. He didn’t want Obi-wan to hurt anymore. 

“I didn’t mean it,” he whispered in Obi-wan’s ear. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it.” 

Obi-wan stiffened, but Anakin wouldn’t let go. He didn’t want to look in his master’s face right now. He breathed deeply and let it out slowly, trying to get Obi-wan to sync his still-shuddering breaths. 

“I know you didn’t,” Obi-wan said finally. He sounded drained. This time when he pulled back, Anakin let him. Obi-wan sank into the pillows behind his back, face drawn. He wasn't meeting their eyes. 

“None of that is true, you know,” Anakin said finally. “You’re the best Jedi I know. You get a lot of things right.” 

“And we definitely aren’t better off without you,” Ahsoka added softly. The Togruta’s eyes were large. “We all know that. And it was very clear while you were away. Even after, when we were mad.” 

Obi-wan flushed as he realized he had been projecting such personal thoughts and emotions. But Ahsoka pushed love and affection toward him, lacing it with her admiration for him. 

Realizing what Ahsoka was doing, Anakin combined her efforts with his. He could see Obi-wan didn’t believe their words. The Jedi Master had withdrawn within himself again, looking bewildered by the affection and warmth. Anakin wrapped comfort around his master, trying to chase away the lingering doubts. 

Obi-wan eventually drifted into sleep. Ahsoka tiptoed from the room, but Anakin stayed behind for a moment. He looked down at Obi-wan, seeing the lines around his master’s eyes and between his brow. He brushed a lock of auburn hair away from the pale face. Seeing Obi-wan so vulnerable was a new experience. He had always been so in control, helping Anakin work through his own issues. 

“We’ll fix this,” he said to the sleeping man. “Like you always do for me. We’ll get through this. Together, like we always do.” He turned in the doorway, promising himself he would be back as soon as he had reported to the rest of the Council about his mission. “We’re a team,” he whispered. “I need you, Obi-wan. Don’t you dare leave me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still in the earliest steps of recovery, but this isn't the kind of problem that makes for a quick recovery. At least the poor man got another hug, right?


	23. Prompt: Torture

Dathomir was not the kind of place a Jedi wanted to wake up in. 

Obi-wan blinked his way out of the drug-induced fog. As the last of the drug left his system, he was able to determine why it had been difficult to breathe. He was tightly tied to a pillar of some kind. While semi-conscious he had been slumped forward, the bindings cutting into his skin. Standing by his own power relieved the tightness enough that he could breathe a little easier. 

He had been on Dathomir once before, albeit briefly. The perpetually red sky had deepened to a dark maroon. He was in a village of some kind, with dark stone structures and glowing lamps of varying heights. Not far away, a small fire crackled, casting ominous shadows of the hooded figures surrounding it. The Force on the planet twisted in unsettling shapes, raising the hair on the back of the Jedi’s neck. 

This was… not good. 

Obi-wan shifted carefully, not wanting to attract the attention of the witches. The surface behind his back felt like stone. He was tied against with three cords: one around his chest and biceps, the second around his torso and forearms, and the third just below his knees. Twisting his wrist a little, Obi-wan concentrated. Yes, he still had connection with the Force. With its aid, he snapped the first cord. 

Instantly, a bolt flashed past his ear, scorching the stone above his shoulder. Obi-wan looked up as a sharp point appeared beneath his chin. A hooded figure stepped from around the pillar, keeping the knife point pricking beneath Obi-wan’s chin. 

“Jedi,” the figure hissed. The voice was low, but undoubtedly female. 

Obi-wan’s heart sank. He’d been right. This was Dathomir, and he was a prisoner of the Nightsisters. 

“Hello,” he said carefully. 

The witch slowly pulled the knife away as more of her sisters began to gather around her. Obi-wan’s eyes flicked between them, sensing the animosity brewing beneath the pointed hoods. 

“Mother Talzin will be here shortly,” one of the Sisters told the others. “It is good he is finally awake.” 

“He is male,” one scoffed. “What did you expect?” 

“He did not flinch,” the nearest Sister said. Her knife was still in her hand. 

Obi-wan cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but why am I here?” 

The women snickered. “Because Mother Talzin wishes it, _Jedi.”_

“I see.” Obi-wan fought not to wince as a fresh cord replaced the one he had broken. His upper spine was pulled against the flat stone. “Last time we met she was more hospitable. I did thank her for the information, didn’t I?” 

The witches on the fringe of the group left in disgust. “Are you certain he didn’t flinch?” one said to her sister in a loud stage whisper. 

“No.” The Nightsister’s pointed hood turned toward the Jedi, a calculating look in her eye. “But there are ways to find out.” Obi-wan did not like the way the woman’s eyes gleamed. Or the way she ran her fingers lightly along the subtle curve of her knife’s blade. 

The Dathomirian females backed away, whispering amongst each other. Obi-wan fought the urge to squirm. It would do no good to use the Force for an escape unless he knew there was a ship. Until then, it would be best to maintain whatever semblance of control he could. Even if the way the Nightsisters were arranging themselves, flexing their plasma bows, made tingles of alarm skitter down his spine. 

“Let us see if the Jedi has any strength.” The apparent leader of the group nodded to her sister. In one smooth movement, the Dathomirian lifted her bow and shot a blot of plasma at the bound prisoner. The energy missed his body by a hand length. Still, it took concentration to resist jerking against his bonds. 

Obi-wan steeled himself as the next witch raised her bow. He began counting the seconds of his inhales and exhales, trying to calm his racing pulse. The Nightsisters began competing to see who could get closest to hitting him without actually doing so, watching his features. It took intense concentration to avoid a facial twitch, or prevent his reflexes from jerking away from the plasma shafts fizzling near his skin. If there was one thing he knew about the witches, it was to not show fear or anything they would perceive as a weakness. 

He could, he considered, try to slip into a light meditation. But the Force here reminded him of Zigoola. The planet was not saturated with the Dark, not the way Zigoola was, but it still felt tenuous. It was foreign in a way he didn’t understand, and Obi-wan was hesitant to open himself up to it. 

It was inevitable that one of the plasma shafts would hit him eventually. Obi-wan sensed it coming. The dark pink energy singed across his bicep. Obi-wan bit back a groan as the graze blistered. 

“Peace, sisters. He has a Jedi’s resolve.” 

Those words. Obi-wan shielded his thoughts as he flinched internally. He met Mother Talzin’s eye as she circled into view, flanked by two more Nightsistsers carrying bundles in their wiry arms. The Dathomirian leader fixed a calculating gaze upon him. 

“Mother Talzin,” Obi-wan greeted quietly. “Nice to see you again. To what do I owe this meeting?” 

Talzin gestured to the Nightsisters she had brought with her, indicating that they should not set down their bundles. Obi-wan kept his eyes on Talzin as the witch priestess faced him, clasping her hands in front of her. “The ancient ones tell me I need something from you.” 

Obi-wan ignored the dark whispers that shadowed the witch’s voice. “If I had known I was coming I would have brought a gift,” he said. 

“But you have, General Kenobi.” Talzin smiled thinly as the sisters gathered around her. 

“Perhaps.” Obi-wan itched to fold his arms. “What do you need from me, Mother?” 

Talzin reached out, taking hold of his jaw and turning his head from one side to the other. Obi-wan lifted one eyebrow but did not resist. He maintained eye contact as she released him. The priestess’s eyes were layered with cruelty and cunning, and a deep satisfaction that worried him. A brief nod to herself, and Mother Talzin stepped back, speaking words in an old tongue. 

Green smokey light poured toward the Jedi. It leaked from the lamps, streamed from the priestess’s hands, and slithered around Obi-wan. The restraints fell away at the same time the mist curled around his wrists and ankles. The remainder of the mist brushed lightly around him, like insubstantial sandpaper. The power lifted him in the air as if he weighed nothing. Obi-wan found he could breathe normally, but his limbs were held still as if held in beskar clamps. 

Talzin walked away from the lamps and buildings, several Nightsisters accompanying her. Obi-wan was pulled along behind, floating like an anti-gravity crate. He yanked his uninjured arm in a futile experiment, keeping an eye out for a ship. 

He didn’t see one. 

The priestess led them past the keep, into the forest of twisted bent branches. Obi-wan pulled harder against the impossible mist when he saw what appeared to be an altar.

He was placed on his back upon it. The mist held him down like a weight as the Nightsisters gathered around him. Mother Talzin was somewhere near his head. “Last time you were more hospitable. Did I offend?” Obi-wan asked. 

“Long ago,” Mother Talzin agreed softly. “I will make this slow, for his sake.” 

Obi-wan furrowed his brow. The monster Zabrack he and Anakin had pursued had escaped, and the event was hardly ‘long ago.’ “For, whom exactly?” Obi-wan asked.

Talzin did not answer, and he was distracted as two of the Nightsisters each grabbed one of his wrists, painting a dot of something dark on the inside of each wrist. The green glow from the mist holding him made it difficult to tell, but Obi-wan was fairly sure the substance was blood. The Force keened a song of distress in his ear at the same time another part, the planet’s Force, seemed to hum with anticipation. Obi-wan’s pulse quickened. 

The Nightsisters began a slow chant in a language the Jedi did not know. The chant clashed with Talzin’s intonations. Mist brushed against Obi-wan, its touch changing so that it felt like claws scraping his skin. The green light swarmed around him, concentrating around his heart and the painted spots on his wrists. 

Discomfort turned to pain as the mist began to sink into him. Obi-wan’s fingers curled as the pain built into agony. It felt like knives being forced through his veins, or having shards of glass pushed into every inch of his skin. He felt something in him being pulled, being torn from his very cells. 

Obi-wan screamed, writhing as the magic culled part of his essence. Tendons and cords stood out his arms and neck as Obi-wan tried to thrash against the force holding him. Images were dragged to the surface of his mind as the mist rooted through him, forcing him to examine himself. His flaws, his strengths, failures, and triumphs—all were dredged up and examined. All the while, the pain didn’t _stop._

Obi-wan’s body settled back onto the altar. He gasped, becoming aware of his surroundings again before Talzin began to pull the mist from him. Her hands clenched in the air over him. As if pulled by invisible strings, the witch magic was pulled from him. 

It was excruciating. Pain flashed white across his vision. His back arced as Talzin pulled something out of him along with the mist. He could feel it tearing him again, dragging at every fiber of his being. The last trace of mist pulled free from above his heart, and Talzin cupped the result in the air between her hands. 

The chanting of the Nightsisters fell silent. 

Obi-wan’s breaths were fast and shallow. Sweat trickled down his temple. His heart pounded, feeling almost irregular. He looked up at Talzin and the thing between her hands.  
There were small lights in the mist, darting around inside the green sphere as if the mist held them captive. They never stopped moving, swirling around each other in a random pattern. Watching made Obi-wan feel dizzy, even though he was lying down. 

“What,” he panted, “did you do?” 

The Dathomirian priestess inspected the orb, then muttered over it. The light disappeared into whatever ether the witch’s magic belonged to. Talzin leaned over the Jedi, hands resting on the stone above his head. “We would kill you, but I will save that for him.” 

The mist holding him was gone, but Obi-wan found he had no strength to resist as Mother Talzin placed one finger on his forehead. His eyes rolled back in his head as darkness took him. 

*****

“Obi-wan.” 

He groaned softly. He tried to move but found that his muscles didn’t respond. Everything felt fuzzy. 

“Obi-wan? Can you hear me?” 

Obi-wan concentrated. He knew that voice. He pried one eye open, then the other. Mace’s concerned face swam into view. 

Dread filled Obi-wan, though he wasn’t sure why. “Mace. No. Can’t be here.” 

“It’s alright, Obi-wan,” Mace Windu soothed. “Let’s get you back.” 

“Back where?” Obi-wan asked thickly. He felt exhausted. Drained. 

“To Coruscant. What happened? How did you get here?” Master Windu asked. 

Obi-wan’s head flopped as someone helped him sit up. “I don’t… know.” The world spun, and all he could think was that he was grateful he was not on Dathomir. He didn’t know why that fervent thought was in his brain. But at least it was true. 

Dathomir was not the kind of place a Jedi wanted to wake up in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure exactly what Talzin took from Obi-wan (midicholorians, life energy, something), but I had the vague idea that it was what she used to lure spider-Maul off of Savage's ship.


	24. Prompt: "You have to let me go." (OC)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure whether to mark that it was Obi-wan or my OC clone that is getting whumped here. It's both, really.

It was the never-ending rain that did it. 

The towering rock formations were washed clean by the torrential rain, unaware that their bases were under attack in the rust-colored mud. The more unstable formations crumbled in the floods. The 250th battalion of the 7th Sky Corps was camped as far away from the spindly structures as possible, pitching tents as close together as they could. It was the safest place for such a large camp, but it was by no means safe. The mountains were rugged sentinels with an austere glare. With so much rain, Commander Barker told them even the side of the mountain could come down in a rocky mudslide. 

CT-6332, Blitz, wiped his rain-splattered visor with his equally wet glove. His small squadron was out on patrol, using the speeder bikes. Intel said that an army of clankers was in the area, led by Grievous himself. Which was why, Blitz knew, General Kenobi was with them. The High General would want to see numbers and positions for himself. The maze of caverns, gullies, and twisting rock was a strategist’s nightmare. 

Blitz glanced surreptitiously at the Jedi driving point, just ahead of him. It wasn’t often they had the High General with them. Usually Commander Barker reported to either General Kenobi or Marshal Commander Cody. Blitz himself had little interaction with Jedi. 

Blitz switched on his feed, speaking only inside his squadron’s buckets. “Keep eyes sharp,” he warned. “It isn’t just the General we let down if we miss something. Those clankers could be on the camp before anyone would even see them.” 

“If we don’t drown first,” Luca grumbled. 

“Can’t you swim?” Copper joked. 

“Sure I can. But where would you go? Into the rocks to get crushed or stranded on one of these boring rocks until the rain stops.” 

“Sounds like a vacation,” Copper responded. “Imagine, no one waiting around, you could take as long of a shower as you want.” 

“I’ve had more than I want already,” Rapidfire chimed in. “But it’s still better than Geonosis. I heard that one was a nightmare.” 

The clones fell silent without Blitz having to warn them to get back to it. The second battle on Geonosis had claimed a lot of brothers, and nearly the lives of all the Jedi Generals involved as well. It was a sobering reminder that numbers and firepower could win over skill. 

General Kenobi slowed his speeder bike at the mouth of a narrow canyon. The clones followed suit. “Sergeant Blitz.” 

Blitz jumped. He’d been told that Jedi liked to use the names the clones had given themselves, but he hadn’t expected the General to remember his after hearing it once. “Yes, sir?”   
“I’ve got a bad feeling that we’re going to run into trouble soon. I’m going to head to the top of that plateau and see if there’s a better view from there.” 

Blitz evaluated the indicated plateau. The only path up would be dangerous, weaving between skinny rock formations that could fall at any moment. Even now he could hear faint ricochets of pillars falling somewhere nearby. 

“At least take someone with you, sir.” The words fell out before he thought about it. Blitz froze, his grip tightening on the handles of the speeder bike. His suggestion had been phrased similarly to an order, and he had just said it to one of the highest ranking officers in the GAR. 

“Hm.” Obi-wan considered the plateau, one hand touching his bearded chin. “Yes, that may be a good idea. We could be seen up there, and having two pairs of eyes would reduce exposure time.” 

Blitz blinked. The Jedi hadn’t even seemed to notice the breach of protocol, nor did he seem affronted by the clone’s familiarity. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised, he thought dazedly. After all, the High General had been going out of his way to greet the clones for days. 

“I’ll go with you, sir,” he said. He turned to the others. “Form a small loop around this position and then take defensive positions around the pathway to the top of this plateau.”   
Blitz nodded to General Kenobi. The Jedi smiled back, wiped water away from his eyes, and started his speederbike. “Stay close,” the General said kindly. 

They took off. The pitch of the bike’s engine rose into a whine as the elevation soared. Blitz hooked his toes under the footrests as the nose kicked up. Gravity pulled him backward as he maneuvered the bike, gradually opening it up to full throttle. He did his best to follow the slightly zig-sagging path of the Jedi, who seemed to instinctively find the easiest way up. 

Not that it was easy. The speeder bucked and wobbled so much Blitz had to wrestle the bike between pillars and up the steep incline. At first they wove through tight turns, barely squeezing through some of the formations. Then the nose of the bike tipped up further. He was going straight up and had been for some seconds. The engine sputtered and began to lag, whining, and adrenaline flooded into Blitz. It was too steep and high for the bike. It wasn’t going to make it. He was going to tumble downward, dashing himself on the rugged rocks. 

Just as he was convinced he would have to jump and mitigate the damage, the bike shot over the lip of the plateau, its front end dropping so as to nearly plow into the ground. Blitz slammed on the brakes, turning the bike as its end slid around. He killed the engine as the vehicle came to a stop just before going over the opposite edge. 

The clone pried his fingers from the handlebars. He was still seated, but his legs felt shaky and his heart thudded in his chest at a pace faster than double time march. 

“Didn’t know if we would make it for a moment there,” General Kenobi said. The Jedi swung off his bike and moved to one edge of the plateau, crouching to minimize his silhouette. 

Blitz glanced at the Jedi in disbelief. _He hadn’t been sure?_ How, then, could the Jedi be so relaxed? The clone shook his head. He’d heard more than a few stories about the Jedi and their incredible abilities. Apparently being nonchalant about nearly dying was one of them. 

Ignoring the familiar rush of adrenaline, Blitz followed General Kenobi to the edge and crouched beside him. The plateau they had chosen was smaller than it had looked on top, almost more of a pinnacle. Instinctively he searched the area immediately below them to search for his brothers. Their small forms had nearly finished the loop. 

“It doesn’t look like the squadron will run into trouble in the immediate area,” Kenobi said. 

Blitz nodded, surprised that the General’s first instinct was similar to his own; to use their vantage point to check on the progress and safety of the small squadron. A quick glance of confirmation, and Blitz lifted his eyes to the labyrinth landscape. Rather than search for shapes, he searched for movement, flitting his attention to different distances and scanning right to left. At first there wasn’t much to see; just the sheer side of the mountain on that side. 

After a time, the soaked Jedi pushed his bangs away from his forehead and turned in the opposite direction of Blitz to scan more area. “Tell me about them,” General Kenobi requested. “Your squad.” 

“What would you like to know, sir?” 

“Tell me how your men work together.” 

Blitz thought for a second. It was an unusual request for such a high-ranking officer, to be interested in a unit of six men. Still, they’d been on patrol together all day. “Atlas is a good navigator. Commander Barker uses him sometimes. Copper is a jokester and Luca’s cynical. Somehow, they work well together and often scout together. Rapidfire does everything in bursts, be it bullets or questions. Taz doesn’t say much, but he’s got a level head on his shoulders. He or Atlas step in if Copper or Rapidfire gets out of hand.” The clone’s eyes never stopped moving as he turned once more. He hesitated, wondering if he had said something that might get some of his brothers in trouble. “They’re all good soldiers.” 

General Kenobi nodded, smiling. They were almost facing the same direction again and moved across the plateau to get a better view of the area on the far side. Once they were on the other side of the bikes, the Jedi spoke again. “If I may say so, your squadron appears to work well together, and you sound very close. Are you batchmates?” 

“Yes, sir.” The clone would have said something else, but a low rumble twisted his head to the side. The slide was close, he knew, but he couldn’t quite—

There! An entire side of the mountain was sliding. Blitz could see it slumping, and his brain told him it should be falling. _But it wasn’t._

“Sir? Do—” The clone cut himself off as he turned to the General. The Jedi had stood, feet braced and hands outstretched. His eyes were closed and fierce concentration lined the space between his eyebrows. 

Blitz gaped. Was the Jedi _holding the side of the mountain up?_ It seemed impossible even for a Jedi. But as he turned to look, he realized why the man would do it. 

If the section of mountain fell, mud and slabs of rock would thunder into the gully. The squad below the plateau had pulled their speeders out of sight and had spread themselves between several rock formations. Down in the canyon, they wouldn’t even see the slide coming. 

Blitz stood, shouting down to his brothers to run, to move. _Anywhere!_ He switched to his helmet, trying to raise one of them on the comm, but static was the only reply. Either there was interference, or the others had removed their helmets during the break. In desperation Blitz began waving his arms. He jumped, his feet coming down on the edge of the plateau. 

Too close. The mud-slicked surface crumbled beneath him, and Blitz stumbled. With a cry he went over the edge. 

There was a moment of weightlessness, and then nothing. Blitz flailed in midair, his brain taking a moment to understand that he was floating. He looked up. 

General Kenobi had stretched one of his hands toward Blitz. He saved me, the clone realized. But when the Jedi lifted that hand, trying to levitate the clone back onto solid ground, the mountain grumbled, sliding a little further towards his unsuspecting brothers. 

The Jedi tried again, with the same result. General Kenobi’s face turned to Blitz, rain dripping from his nose and chin. The clone could see the strain on the General’s face, and he understood. It was him or his brothers. Moving him took concentration away from pushing against the landslide.

Blitz set his helmet to record, so that he could send a final message to his squad brothers. “It’s me or them, sir,” he said. The Jedi had made the same calculations Blitz had, the clone knew. He saw the refusal in Kenobi’s blue eyes, then regret and apology as the mountainside slipped further. The General’s arm shook as he grimly held the side of the mountain. 

Blitz took a deep breath as he gave his final message to his General and his brothers. “Save them. You have to let me go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a very realistic scenario, but the ending scene popped into my head and wouldn't leave until I wrote it. And now I have an OC squad that I love, even though there is next to no information on them here. XD


	25. Alternate Prompt: "I can't lose you too." (Ahsoka)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and turned sort of fluffy.

Ahsoka hadn’t meant to be separated from the others. But she had lagged behind, and by the time she looked up the blizzard and whisked them all away. The driving wind and snow had quickly obliterated the tracks. 

The Togruta trudged on, lowering her head against the blizzard. Night was coming. Fortunately she didn’t think it could get any colder than it had been earlier. She had stopped shivering a little while ago, so maybe the movement was finally warming her up. The ends of her montrals were still stinging. She lifted her mittened hands to rub them.

And realized her face was numb. She couldn’t feel the mittens on her skin. 

Ahsoka staggered toward a rock that looked like the fin of a fish breaking out of the snow. The meager shelter it provided seemed like a good place to rest. She huddled against it, tucking her legs in close. 

She closed her eyes. 

*********** 

Someone was calling her name. 

Ahsoka tried to answer, but all that came out was a wheezing cough that felt like icicles stabbing her chest. She was so cold. Even her lips felt stiff. 

“Ahsoka!” 

She lifted her head. “Mber ‘wan?” Her teeth chattered when she tried to speak. 

“Ahsoka. Thank the Force, I found you.” Arms slid behind her back and under her knees. Ahsoka felt herself lifted. She rested her head on Master Kenobi’s chest, even though the shell of his parka was cold. It was still shelter from the wind and heavy flakes of snow. 

“Try to stay awake.” 

“Cold,” Ahsoka whimpered. She was so tired. Her head bounced a little as Master Obi-wan picked up his pace. 

“I know. We’ll get you warm. Just hang on, little one.” Then, softer, “I can’t lose you too.” Maybe she imagined it, though, because her eyes closed of their own accord and she slept. 

The next thing she was aware of was that she was shivering again. She didn’t want to open her eyes, so she just listened. 

“Any closer to the fire and she’s going to be sitting in it, Anakin. Here’s another blanket.” 

There was a muffled touch around her shoulders. Ahsoka realized she was leaning against something, and that she was completely swaddled with blankets. Light danced across her closed eyelids, and something crackled nearby. 

Her eyes opened. Fire. There was a fire in front of her. She was out of the wind that sliced through all her layers. She was still tired, but she felt… safe. She snuggled a little deeper into the blankets. 

“Ahsoka? You awake?” 

The shoulder she was leaning on shifted, and Ahsoka jerked upright. “S-Sorry, Master.” 

“Easy, Snips,” her master said. It had been a while since he had called her that. The togruta looked up at Anakin, noting how worried he looked. She suppressed another shiver. In response, Anakin tightened his arm around her, tucking her close. Ahsoka didn’t mind. She was still cold, despite the blankets and fire. 

Master Kenobi appeared, holding a steaming cup. “Do you feel like drinking something?” he asked. “It’s warm.” 

Ahsoka nodded, flushing a little beneath all the attention. Her hands slid out from beneath the blankets to take the cup. Obi-wan waited until he was sure her fingers would hold it before letting go. 

The warmth felt heavenly. She kept it cupped in her hands while Master Obi-wan sat on the floor beside her. Then she took a slow sip. 

“Oh,” she gasped. 

“Too hot?” Obi-wan looked guilty, as if worried she had scalded her tongue. 

Ahsoka shook her head and took another mouthful. “It’s sweet. What is it?” 

“A gift Dex sent along. Some kind of chocolate, he said. I thought the sugar might do some good for once, along with the warmth.” 

“It’s good.” Ahsoka smacked her lips and realized she could feel them again. Her fingers, toes, and montrals were all back, too. “We should have it more often.” 

They sat in companionable silence for a while, watching the flames. The warm drink slowly thawed some of the icicles in her lungs, though she still coughed a little every once in a while. After the third time, Master Obi-wan got up. “I think there’s something in the supplies that might help with that.” He took the empty cup from Ahsoka and went to go look.

“I’m sorry I got separated,” Ahsoka said shyly. “I lost your tracks and—” 

“We’re just glad you’re safe now,” Anakin interrupted, tucking the slipping blankets back over her shoulder. He shuddered a little himself. 

The warmth was making her sleepy again. Ahsoka took the medicine Master Obi-wan handed her, then sat between her masters until she could no longer keep her eyes open. She was still wrapped in several blankets when she woke up the next morning.


	26. Note

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a fic

Thanks for reading! I was so close to finishing all of the Febuwhump challenge. However, the rest of the prompts started larger fics with plots and needed more than just a oneshot. So I'll be doing them, just not here, and it will take a while. Plus school and work are getting chaotic. Thanks for the kudos and comments! Come find me on [Tumblr](https://swranger.tumblr.com/) if you want to chat. I'm super shy but would love to connect with some of the Star Wars/Clone Wars community!


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